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Adventures of an Office Seeker 


BY 

SAM SUCK, JR. 

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RICHMOND, VA. : 
EVERETT WADDEY CO. 
1904 



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OCT 24 1904 

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Copyright, 1904 
by DUVAL PORTER 


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DEDICATION. 


Any one who is fond of the pomp and circumstances of war, 
of battle’s stern, magnificent array, the truth, that “Peace hath 
its victories no less renowned than war,” is not pleasing nor 
palatable. 

And yet no right thinking mind can deny that genius for 
construction, by which civilization advances step by step, must 
excel that of destruction, by which it is not only retarded, but 
in many cases, well nigh destroyed. 

Thence it is that a great captain of industry is a benefactor 
of his race, while, too often, a great captain of armies is its 
Apollyon. The exceptions to this rule are rare. 

Having this thought in mind, it occurred to the author, that 
no one in the broad limits of our whole Southland was more 
to be honored for his victories in peace than General Julian S. 
Carr, of North Carolina. Coming out of the war without a dol¬ 
lar, and in the midst of a bankrupt people, whom he forsook not 
in misfortune, he went heroically to work, and stands to-day 
as a leader in the industrial army, which has not only re¬ 
deemed his section but caused it to blossom as a rose. Nor must 
it be overlooked that he early realized in his successful financial 
career, that the true secret of happiness consists in making 
others happy. And we verily believe that General Carr has 
done more in this direction than any dozen other worthy men 
in the entire South. Possessing an intuitive sense of value, he 
recognizes it wherever it exists, and hence does not limit it to 
the confines of trade and commerce, but extends it to the wider 
realms of science, literature and art. 

And now in view of all these things, and without a hint or 
suggestion from him, we dedicate this book to him; realizing 
that his keen sense of humor will enable him to appreciate the 
fun of one who tried but failed. 








INTRODUCTION. 


Upon the death of the late Samuel Slick, Jr., which sad 
event occurred the same year in which his idol, William 
Jennings Bryan, received his second defeat for the Pres¬ 
idency, he left a large number of manuscripts. He also 
wrote a request addressed to myself, in which he expressed 
a wish that I would examine these writings, and to publish 
such of them as I thought proper. Here is his letter: 

My Dear Sir:—It is nothing but natural as one approaches 
dissolution, if he be the father of a family, that he should feel 
a concern for his children, whom he is compelled to leave behind 
him. The ties of affection are always more tender when about 
to be severed. Hence my solicitude that my children should 
have a proper guardian, one in whom I have the utmost confi¬ 
dence, when I can no longer look after them myself. 

From long and intimate acquaintance with yourself, I am 
persuaded that you are the friend to whom I can entrust my 
progeny. As I leave behind me no issue according to the flesh, 
you may have perceived that I have sole reference to the chil¬ 
dren of my mind, and I need not assure you, as Cervantes says, 
that they are just as dear to the parental heart as the children 
of our bodies. 

In the manuscripts which I have confided to your care you 
will find an inventory of their several names, characters and 
dispositions. Like all other children, where there are many of 
a family, you may find some of them sprightlier than the rest. 
These will, perhaps, give you less trouble in disposing of them 


6 


to the best advantage, should they ever arrive at publishing 
maturity. But I much fear a majority of my large literary 
progeny will lie on your hands for a support, unless, like the Spar¬ 
tan law-giver, you destroy the weak in order to give room to the 
strong. 

But to drop metaphor: In the manuscript I leave you, you will 
find my life has been an eventful and busy one in more ways 
than the world knew. Ostensibly engaged in business pursuits, 
you will perceive that an intensely active literary career has 
Deen mine also. That it has not been successful, as the world 
rates success now-a-days, goes without saying. But considera¬ 
tions of money or fame never dominated my pen in the pro¬ 
duction of these memoirs. They are the offspring of literary 
inspiration, pure and simple, without reference to material con¬ 
siderations. But I need not be my own critic. My friends will 
save me that trouble. 

Wishing you success in all your undertakings, a long life and 
a happy one, I am yours sincerely, 

Samuel Slick, Jr. 

From the letter just read it can be seen that onr deceased 
friend was no ordinary person. Although this letter 
must have been written in full view of dissolution, there is 
not a gloomy line in it. This accords with what I knew 
of his character. He was too unselfish to inflict pain 
upon others, and in consequence was ever cheerful in 
company. He was also of a most confiding disposition 
towards his intimates, but reserved amongst strangers. 
But I was always under the impression that his life 
and conduct were shaped in accordance with some domi¬ 
nant theory. Nor was I mistaken, as the closing chap- 


7 


ter of these memoirs will show. These, it may be re¬ 
marked, cover the whole period of his literary career. In 
fact they may be said to afford an inner history of a rea- 
markable life, which is now for the first time given to 
the public. 

In full assurance then that these memoirs will he found 
of intense interest, we will not detain the reader with 
observations of my own, hut give him the privilege of 
reading them and deciding for himself. I will only 
add that this manuscript had been accepted by a publisher 
several years ago, and would have been public property 
now but for the fact that the publisher made an assign¬ 
ment during its publication. As ex-president, Grover 
Cleveland occupies a large space in the joys and sorrows 
of an office-seeker, and as that distinguished American is 
again prominently before the public as a prospective can¬ 
didate for the presidency for the fourth time, these me¬ 
moirs may possess an added interest on that account. 

Yours truly, 

The Editor. 





























































































































































































































































































































































Adventures of an Office Seeker. 


CHAPTER I. 

When one’s ancestry is all right, it can speak for it¬ 
self in the bearing and manner of its offspring. Now, the 
world rightly sets small store by the man who is always 
bragging about his granddaddy. For this weighty reason, 
I shall make but a slight allusion to mine. 

As you well know, however, my grandfather was a 
great philanthropist, especially sympathetic with that por¬ 
tion of mankind who were males and unmarried, and yet 
wanted to be so. To express his sympathies, he wrote 
a book entitled; “Sam Slick in Search of a Wife,” in 
which he set forth all the dangers of that perilous under¬ 
taking. When I became old enough to read his book and 
understand it, I determined to improve upon it, as I had 
then an experience in search of something else far more 
trying, namely the search of office. I realized at once the 
superior merits of my scheme, for it is a foregone conclu¬ 
sion, if you can get an office, you can get a wife. And 
then, besides, see what a benefaction my experience must 
prove to the American people, as nine-tenths of them, 
black as well as white, female as well as masculine, lay 
awake at nights, dreaming of the heaven afforded by a 
public office, from the presidency down to the fourth-class 
postmasterships in their native villages. This being so, I 
know my little book will prove a great boon to suffering 



10 

office-seeking humanity, from Grover Cleveland, Teddy 
Roosevelt, and William Jennings Bryan, to Southern 
pickaninnies, who are now picking blackberries in order to 
keep soul and body together, until the office-holding millen¬ 
nium, promised by Teddy, comes around. 


CHAPTER II. 


As I made two assaults on the City of Political Plums, 
the first when the Republican party was in full control, 
and the second when the Democrats had full swing, I will 
give my office-seeking constituency the benefit of both of 
my experiences in that city of magnificent distances, espe¬ 
cially distant when it comes to laying hold of an office. 

But now, before I take you to Washington as an office- 
seeker, you must allow me to introduce another and better 
side of it to you, with which I had quite an experience, 
lasting nearly four years. 

When I first struck the city, Virginia was represented 
at Washington by as sorry a lot of political accidents as 
ever met under the sun. Among the lot of natives was the 
“Scalawag,” who turned tail soon after the war and be¬ 
came “trooly loil”; then there was the original, generally 
mean, but yet consistent, “Union man,” who could take 
the ironclad oath, and lastly, there was that loathsome 
political bird of passage—the infamous carpetbagger. It 
made Virginians, who chanced to be in Washington at 
this time, hang their heads with shame to see their proud 
old State, once represented by such men as Jefferson, 
Madison, Monroe, and Randolph, now misrepresented by 
one lot of dunderheads who did not know “B from a 
Bull’s foot,” by another who could swear before God and 
man that they had never entertained an iota of sympathy 
for their own people in their heroic struggle in what they 
supposed a just cause, and whose deeds of valor won the 
admiration of every chivalrous soul, even in the North 
itself, and lastly, by another lot, whose meanness it would 


12 


bankrupt any language, ancient or modern, to describe 
the carpetbaggers. 

But it was otherwise with the North. The men whom 
she sent were, as a rule, bitter towards the South, but they 
were able, very able, and they stood for something. Like 
the Corps Legislatif of France, Congress had its Cantons, 
its Mirabeaus and its Robespierres. But unlike that 
immortal tribunal, while it cried out “Liberty and 
Equality/’ this drew the line at “Fraternity.” The mis¬ 
sion of the Republican party had not ended at that 
time, and its principles were sufficient to keep it in 
power without resorting to leagues with trusts and mo¬ 
nopolies. Its existence did not depend upon the money¬ 
bags of the North, but upon the grand ideas which 
it pronounced as its creed. The era of plutocratic 
rule had not then set in, the word “barrel” as a 
part of the political nomenclature of the country, had not 
yet been coined. There were no Wood-Pulp Millers, no 
Union Pacific Stanfords, no Standard Oil Trust Paynes, 
and what not, in Congress, looking after their own indi¬ 
vidual interests in the Senate, whilst ostensibly represent¬ 
ing great commonwealths. The sad spectacle had not 
then presented itself of men occupying seats made illus¬ 
trious by Lincoln, by Seward, and Sumner, who, whatever 
their talents in other directions, had not sufficient ora- 
torial ability to keep the presiding officer of their body 
from going to sleep five minutes after they began. 

But more of this later on. 

For many years, that part of Fourteenth street, Wash¬ 
ington, D. C., lying between F. street northwest on the 
one corner, and Pennsylvania avenue on the other, was 
known in local parlance as “Newspaper Row.” Begin¬ 
ning in the basement of the Ebbitt House, and extending 


13 


south to the old Western Union telegraph office, the great 
dailies had established their headquarters at the National 
Capital. Here their representatives did their literary 
work, held secret counsel with lobbyists, consorted with 
Representatives, and consulted with Senators. From these 
issued hits of information, in the shape of a telegram or 
a news letter to the manufacturers of public sentiment, 
and the very next day would cause some derelict Congress¬ 
man to arise in his place in the House or Senate and 
ask permission for a personal explanation, in which he 
would deny some charge, or demand a Committee of In¬ 
quiry. From the same quarter emanated information, 
that, like a killing frost, nipped in the hud the blushing 
honors of newly-made Congressmen or hurled from place 
and power old stagers who thought themselves invincible. 

Of many who were established there, at the time of 
which I write, were Gibson, of the New York Sun; 
Adams, of the World; Smalley, of the Tribune ; Preston, 
of the Herald; Sawyer, of the Boston Traveller; McFar- 
lane, of the Philadelphia Press, and D. D. Cone, of the 
Philadelphia Ledger. 

When the time for which I had been employed to teach 
had expired, having provided myself with a letter of in¬ 
troduction from Professor Young, I called on D. D. Cone, 
of the Ledger. I found a man with a face roughened 
with a stubby blackish beard, and a slight stoop of the 
shoulders, over which a talma was thrown. He was about 
fifty years of age. Upon inquiring, he informed me that 
he was D. D. Cone. Having briefly made known the 
object of my call, I was asked a few silly questions as to 
what I could do, how much experience I had, etc. He 
then made me an offer of nine dollars a week as a starter. 
I made no reply. He advanced to twelve, with a promise 


14 


of more should I prove satisfactory. Not knowing him 
as well then, as I did afterwards, I closed with this offer. 
I was then instructed as to my duties. I must report at 
the office every morning at 10 o’clock, receive any special 
instructions that might he necessary, and then repair to 
the Capitol and pick up all I could get as to what had 
taken place the day before, and which had not gotten into 
print. But above everything else, I was urged to find out 
what would take place to-morrow, the day after, or a week 
hence. As this last command required a knowledge of 
future events, and as I was neither a prophet nor the 
son of one, and, as I felt, if there are any two things be¬ 
yond the foreknowledge of God, they are the decisions of a 
negro jury, and the fate of a hill in Congress, I began to 
despair. I soon ascertained, however, that a good guess is 
as good as anything else in the way of news and felt 
comforted accordingly. 

Having exhausted the House, I was required to go first 
to the Post Office Department, get the names of all the 
new post offices, post routes and postmasters, then to the 
Interior Department, look up new patents and Indian 
affairs, next to visit the War and Navy Department, in 
order to get army transfers and naval changes, and finally 
to bring up at the office at 4 P. M. to write out what I had 
gathered during the day. 

It required only one round to ascertain the standing of 
my chief. He was the laughing-stock of the keen wits 
congregated on “Newspaper Row,” the astonishment of 
all those who had sought such posts in vain as this he 
held, and feared by all his employes on account of his 
crankiness. I formed, however, a more favorable and 
charitable opinion of my employer. He was a weak, but 
not a bad man. He had sense enough to know he had 


15 


none, and in this respect he was superior to those who are 
ignorant of this important department of self-knowledge. 
To atone for his own weakness, he surrounded himself 
with a staff of assistants who could hide his intellectual 
nakedness. What does a man want of originality when 
he can buy all he needs for twenty-five or thirty dollars 
a week and dispose of it for a hundred ? What does a 
man care for an orchard of his own when he is able to cor¬ 
ner all the apples on the market and sell them at a profit ? 
Preposterous! 

First, there was Peck, a shrewd Yankee from Maine,, 
who, when sober (which was seldom), could find out 
more of the hidden doings of Congressmen than any other 
man on the “How.” Next was Proctor, a machine news¬ 
paper man, who had edited a paper of his own in Mary¬ 
land, a number one fellow and the Yestor of the office. 
Then came Trettler, the manifold writer and stenogra¬ 
pher, a nephew of the chief’s wife, amiable, placid and 
taciturn. Tastily, myself, of whom more than enough is 
already known. 

Here, at the office, we might be found at 4 P. M., all 
seated at a square table, covered with green baize, each 
with an open note-book before him, filled and disfigured 
with characters, as intelligible to any one else as the in¬ 
scriptions to be seen upon an Egyptian obelisk, or as an 
average Congressman’s speech on the tariff. The contents 
of said note-book having been amplified into passable Eng¬ 
lish, were handed to the chief. This functionary would 
then read them over, pull his beard distractedly for fully 
five minutes, meantime gazing into vacancy, where, if the 
poor man saw anything, it was the image of himself, and 
then put them into his pocket, and walk out without utter¬ 
ing a word, and was seen no more until next morning. 


16 


Upon investigation, we found that Cone had done two 
wonderfully clever things for a dull man. He had mar¬ 
ried rich, and also won the favor of G. Washington 
Childs, of “the only great and religious daily,” the Phila¬ 
delphia Ledger. In conjunction with these two forces he 
had secured influence enough to become the Washington 
representative of this great daily. As a consequence of 
this discovery of ours, we never hear the word “influence” 
mentioned now that it does not give us a sensation to 
which we were strangers, before our introduction into 
the new world of Washington. “Who is your influence,” 
when asked at the National Capital, may mean a dozen 
different things. It may mean a justice of the Supreme 
Court. It may mean a member of Congress. It may 
mean some head of a department, or it may mean some 
pretty woman, whose fine Italian hand has never forgot¬ 
ten, but rather improved, its cunning by a residence in 
Washington during a session of Congress. It may mean 
all this and more. But there is one thing it never means 
at the Capital, and that is, your own merit. 

Our duties as a journalist, enabled us to take note of 
many things in the Departments at Washington that were 
singular, to say the least. One thing especially struck us 
as peculiar. Among the hundreds, nay thousands, of young 
ladies employed in the various departments, we never saw 
an ugly one. This may be owing to the fact that “Beauty 
draws us with a single hair,” whilst ugliness could not 
move us with a rope. The Departments evidently have 
an eye to beauty also, while to ugliness they are stone 
blind. As a result of this discovery, our advice to the 
young ladies is never to seek a government position unless 
their personal pulchritude is above, or at least at par, for 
their “influence” is just as certain to tell them “there is no 


17 


vacancy,” if they are ugly, as lie is to tell them “there is 
one,” if they are pretty. 

But our chief delight was to sit in the Reporter’s Gal¬ 
lery in the House and witness (as I not infrequently did) 
the verbal combats that often raged below. At that time 
James G. Blaine was Speaker of the House, and an abler 
and more impartial man never sat in the chair. 

Benjamin F. Butler was a member, and always had 
on his war paint. Daniel W. Voorhees, “the tall sycamore 
of the Wabash,” was also a member, and so was H. L. 
Dawes, the two Hoars, Oakes Ames, James Brooks, Luke 
Poland, William McKinley, Niblack, James A. Garfield, 
Samuel J. Randall, and a host of others, who have since 
then risen into National prominence. 

Of many notable encounters between the giants of those 
days, we recall the following: 

Lyman Tremaine, of New York, won much reputation 
in the great Tweed trial, in which case he was one of the 
advocates for the Commonwealth. In consequence, his 
admirers in the Republican party, after the conviction of 
the great chief of Tammany Hall, secured his nomina¬ 
tion, as well as election, to Congress. He came to Wash¬ 
ington with a great flourish of trumpets, ostensibly, no 
doubt, to assume the role of “leader” of his party on the 
floor of the House. Like many other men who are great at 
home, he did not measure up to the expectations of his 
friends in Congress. Thrilling and convincing a jury is 
very different from gaining the attention, much less cap¬ 
tivating the fancy, or compelling the judgment of those 
well-trained intellects, acute disputants and merciless 
critics who constitute our National Congress. Many a 
brilliant man at home, after serving one term in that body , 
has gone hack to his constituents with a much less exalted 
2 


18 


opinion of himself than he entertained before he went 
there. It is highly probable that Tremaine was no excep¬ 
tion to this rule. At any rate, shortly after the session 
bsgan, he made a set speech on the bankruptcy bill, then 
pending, which, although it did not create as great a 
sensation as he expected, yet put him near the front of 
the really able men, who at that time constituted the 
leaders of the Republican party on the floor of the House. 
It was noticed that General Butler, who stood high in the 
intellectual regards of his fellow-members on his side 
of the chamber, regarded Tremaine jealously out of. that 
weather-eye of his, and it was predicted that he would 
“down” him whenever an opportunity should arise. He 
did not have long to wait, A short time after Tremaine 
had made the speech referred to, Hon. Luke Poland, of 
Vermont, whose venerable appearance, bland manners, 
brass buttons, blue broadcloth coat, cut in the style of the 
last century, which he always buttoned up to his ears, and 
his general resemblance to “Old Father Grimes,” that 
good old man of nursery rhyme fame, causes him to he re¬ 
membered more than anything else, arose in his place to 
plead for an extension of the patent of a certain monopoly. 
General Butler, whose hobby while in Congress, was to 
wage relentless war upon all monopolies, determined, as 
soon as Mr. Poland began, to reply to him when he should 
have concluded. The old gentleman spoke long and tedi¬ 
ously, and when he sat down, before General Butler could 
catch the Speaker’s eye, another member had done so, and 
spoke on the same side, fully as long. When this second 
infliction was over, the General obtained recognition, and 
was proceeding to reply, when Mr. Poland arose and said: 

“Will the gentleman allow me five minutes more ?” 

“Ho, sir,” thundered Mr. Butler; “I will not allow 


19 


you one minute.” Then turning to Mr. Blaine, he said: 
“Mr. Speaker, I claim your protection,” to which the lat¬ 
ter at once replied: “The gentleman from Massachusetts 
is entitled to the floor.” 

General Butler, then addressing Mr. Hoar, exclaimed: 
“Sir, what must he the exigencies of that cause, which for 
four mortal hours has taxed the patience of this House, 
and yet when a gentleman on the opposite side arises to 
speak he is not even treated with the common courtesies 
of debate.” 

At this point Mr. Tremaine arose and said in his most 
grandiloquent, not to say pompous, manner: “Perhaps 
the gentleman will allow me one minute.” 

“Yes, sir,” thundered Butler; “if you will keep your 
mouth shut afterwards.” 

Tremaine’s turn now came to reply, which he at once 
did. He said: 

“That depends upon whether you tell the truth.” 

But alas! General Butler’s retort struck home, and to 
use an expression more forcible than eloquent, made the 
fur fly! Turning himself around and squarely facing his 
adversary, he said: 

“Sir, if that he your reason for keeping it shut, your 
tongue will finally cleave to the roof of your mouth. But 
the truth of the matter is, you have never been able to keep 
it shut since you convicted Tweed.” 

When you take into account that of all his achieve¬ 
ments, Tremaine was prouder of this last than of any¬ 
thing else, it will be seen that the General’s thrust was 
into the most vital part of his nature, namely, his vanity. 
It was Tremaine’s turn to fly into a passion now, and he 
did so at once. But he essayed another shot at his an¬ 
tagonist, saying in his most sarcastic tones: 


20 


“You sympathize with Tweed, do you ?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied General Butler, “with such counsel 
as he had against him.” 

At this last thrust there was an explosion of laughter 
all over the house at Tremaine’s expense. The latter made 
one more effort to recover his lost prestige, as he fairly 
hissed between his teeth: 

“Sir! I always thought there was a bond of sympathy 
between you and Tweed.” 

General Butler, when he chose, could he quite oratori¬ 
cal in his manner, and so, raising his hand as if pro¬ 
nouncing a funeral oration over his fallen adversary, he 
replied: 

“Sir, such a man as William M. Tweed should have 
hunted by lions and not by jackals.” 

This ended the contest. Tremaine, humbled and beaten 
in his first encounter, never rallied from it, for he made no 
further stir in Congress, and served only one term, we 
believe. 

But this was not the only notable contest of this kind 
in which General Butler was engaged while in Congress. 
They were almost of daily occurrence, and if he ever came 
out “second best” we do not remember it. In a rough 
and tumble combat of wits he had no superior in the 
House or out of it. Like John Randolph, he sought the 
weak spots in an enemy’s armour, and smote him in that 
tender place with the javelin of ridicule, and that without 
mercy. His own hide, so to speak, was so tough that 
nothing but the club of Hercules would have made any 
impression upon it. Hnlike most men of wit, the madder 
he got the more dangerous he became, as the following 
incident will show: 

For a long time he and Hon. H. L. Dawes, of Mas- 


21 


sachusetts, had not been on good terms, going so far, even 
as not to speak to each other. Dawes despised Butler on 
account of his disregard of respectability, while Butler, 
on the other hand, took an especial delight in poking fun 
at the whole tribe of silk-stocking gentry, who dominated 
the politics of New England in general, and Massa¬ 
chusetts in particular. In this respect he was worse than 
the traditional bull in the china shop, and for the time 
being it seemed as if he would smash all the tea-sets in 
the political cupboards of the Messrs. Dawes and Hoar. 

But a “change came over the spirit of his political 
dreams.” Charles Summer, the senior Senator from Mas¬ 
sachusetts, died. This, of course, created a vacancy. 
Mr. Dawes had long been watching this particular politi¬ 
cal plum, and now that an opportunity offered of getting 
it, his mouth fairly “watered” for it. General Butler, 
on the other hand, with an eastern devotion, knelt at the 
shrine of his idolatry—the Governorship of the Old Bay 
State. Butler was strong in Boston and the smaller towns, 
and among the common people. Dawes had the ear of the 
political leaders and was backed by the aristocracy. The 
General had friends enough in the Legislature to throw 
the scales in favor of any one for the Senatorship whom 
he should name. Dawes could render Butler efficient aid 
in his efforts for capturing the gubernatorial prize. Un¬ 
der such conditions it was no marvel that a reconciliation 
should be sought and accomplished between Messrs. 
Dawes and Butler. Anyone acquainted with General But¬ 
ler will testify that when he wanted anything he knew 
how to ask for it without “beating around the bush” in the 
least. Well, as the story goes, approaching his colleague, 
he opened negotiations as follows: 

“Dawes, we have long been at loggerheads, but as I 


22 


wish to be Governor of Massachusetts, and. you wish to be 
Senator, and as neither one of us can succeed without the 
aid of the other, let us bury the hatchet, if not, ‘It shall be 
war to the knife and the knife to the hilt.’ ” Like the 
conventional young lady, who has been “anticipating” 
for some time, and who has already answered to herself 
in the affirmative, yet, when her lover propounds the all- 
important query, pretends surprise, and begs for time to 
deliberate, so did Dawes. He asked until the following 
morning before giving his decision. 

“All right,” replied the Essex statesman, as he saun¬ 
tered leisurely back to his seat. 

The reconciliation took place. And now the novel sight 
was presented to the entire House of two men, whose 
prominence made their every movement noticeable, and 
w r ho had not exchanged a dozen words in as many years, 
becoming as “thick as forty cats in a wallet” and billing 
and cooing in the most gushing style. They were at each 
other’s desks off and on all day, exchanging confidences. 
Sometimes the bulky form of General Butler would he 
seen bending over Dawes’ desk, and then vice versa, the 
latter would be seen in the same attitude at that of the 
doughty General. 

Here, indeed, was a fine opening to have some fun at 
the expense of the General. All that was needful was 
some one who was a sufficient master of burlesque to 
bring it about. 

The House, at that time, had just the man to fill the bill. 
It was the late S. S. Cox, of Hew York, better known to 
his friends, who were legion, as “Sunset Cox.” He pos¬ 
sessed every qualification for the part he undertook. He 
was witty in ways that inflicted no wound. He was very 
popular with both political parties, and could always catch 


23 


the Speaker’s eye at the proper time, and the ear of the 
House at any. He had been “bested” by General Butler 
in a previous tilt, and would be only paying back the 
General in his own coin, and settling up an old score, 
instead of a grudge, as they were the best of friends. In 
fact, one as full of humor as S. S. Cox was, can have no 
grudges. There was too much joyousness, elasticity and 
love of fun for its own sake, in his composition to allow 
any room for the play of the darker passions, that so 
often disfigure the brightest minds. “Sunshine” would 
have been a better sobriquet for him than “Sunset.” But 
it must not be inferred from what we have written that 
Mr. Cox was merely a wit and nothing more. Far from 
it. He was an exceedingly able man, and one of the best 
read men in the House. He was a perfect arsenal of facts 
and precedents relating to legislation, and was, in conse¬ 
quence, one of the most useful men in Congress. He pre¬ 
sided with eminent ability whenever temporarily called 
to the chair by the Speaker, and was honored by a more 
than complimentary vote for the Speakership itself, on 
more occasions than one, by his party, and was contin¬ 
uously returned to Congress by his district, until he re¬ 
ceived and accepted the Turkish mission proffered by 
President Cleveland. 

With this pen picture of Mr. Cox we now return to the 
relation of the incident proposed. After General Butler 
and Mr. Dawes had been hobnobbing together about a 
week, “Sunset” arose to a question of privilege, and be¬ 
gan, as nearly as we can recall, as follows: 

“Mr. Speaker, it is a fact known of all men, that the 
two gentlemen from Massachusetts, who have been so 
long hostile towards each other, are now seen daily con¬ 
ferring together. Has the millemum indeed come, and 


24 


are we to witness first on this floor the beginning of that 
happy era when the lion and the lamb shall lie down to¬ 
gether, when men shall beat their swords into plow¬ 
shares, and fashion their spears into prnning-hooks % If 
sueh be not the case, why all this billing and cooing \ Why 
this mutual and frequent exchange of confidences ? Are 
the two gentlemen conspiring against the peace and dig¬ 
nity of this House? Or is there a plot hatching within 
the fertile precincts of their intellects to subvert the Con¬ 
stitution itself ? If none of these things be so, will one or 
both of the gentlemen explain the reason of this ‘thusness’ ? 
But, sir, how comports their confidences and conduct with 
the following communication.” 

At this point Mr. Cox produced a copy of the Washing¬ 
ton Chronicle , and read as follows: 

“A few days ago General Butler met an old Republican 
friend of his from Hew Hampshire, who said to him: 

“General, what of Mr. Dawes’ speech the other day ?” 

Mr. Dawes was chairman of the Ways and Means Com¬ 
mittee at this time, and in presenting his report, was 
very severe in his strictures upon the extravagance of the 
administration. The Democrats printed this speech as a 
campaign document and scattered it broadcast over the 
Granite State, and succeeded (if we mistake not) in elect¬ 
ing their candidate for Governor. 

So, when the question was asked General Butler con¬ 
cerning this speech, although he and Dawes had made 
friends, he replied: 

“Bad, sir, very bad for the Republican party. The 
truth of the matter is that when an old brindled steer, like 
Dawes, gets out of the pasture at night no man’s corn¬ 
field in the country is safe.” 

The explosion of laughter that followed the conclusion 


25 


of this article fairly shook the building itself, and for a 
moment or two Messrs. Dawes and Butler were two of 
the “sickest” looking men imaginable. The General soon 
rallied, however, and roared out: 

“What paper do you get that from, sir V ’ 

“Why,” replied “Sunset,” in his most provoking way, 
“The paper is all right; it is,the court journal and speaks 
by the card; it is from the Daily Chronicle , whose editor 
confabs in secret with the powers that be, and knows what 
he is writing about.” 

There was another outburst of merriment at the Gen¬ 
eral^ expense, and it seemed as if that redoubtable cham¬ 
pion, from whose belt dangled s6 many scalps, was about 
to lose his own. He let out on the newspapers in general 
and this one in particular, in a molten stream of invective 
and sarcasm, and wound up by saying that the power of 
the press consisted alone in its ability to lie and abuse, 
and that in these latter respects, it was equal to a forty- 
j ackass-mud-power. 

When he had concluded this outburst of rage and indig¬ 
nation had “Sunset” desisted, he would clearly have come 
off conqueror. But as it was, he pushed ahead just one 
step too much and was knocked out in the third round, 
as our pugilist brethren would say. He arose and said: 

“I know the gentleman from Massachusetts is a good 
man, but he is not smart to-day.” 

To which the General instantly replied: 

“As for you, sir, you are neither good nor smart any 
day.” 

This turned the tables on “Sunset,” and he sat down 
amid a roar of laughter at his own expense after all. 

Another notable “spat” on the floor occurred between 
Hon. George F. Hoar, of Massachusetts, and a Mr. 


26 


Nesmith, of Oregon. Mr. Hoar, as every one knows, 
was a highly cultivated and refined gentleman (and but 
for his intense partisanry would long ago have received 
the credit of being a statesman instead of the odium of 
being a mere politician), removed but a few steps by his 
intellect and experience, above such nondescripts as Til- 
man and Foraker. He was scrupulously neat both as re¬ 
garded his person and his choice of words. Hesmitli, on 
the contrary, was one of those breezy sons of the West, 
who seemed to look upon the effete specimens of Hew 
England civilization as the poorest types of mankind go¬ 
ing, and poked fun at them with nearly every turn. In 
every respect he was the antitheses of Mr. Hoar. His 
sense of humor was so broad that it ran riot over the 
cherished conventionalities of the East, with all the glee 
and zest of a school boy throwing snow-balls at the school- 
house window. In short, he was as full of fun as was Mr. 
Hoar of gravity and Christian “statesmanship.” 

About this time Hon. George H. Williams, Attorney- 
General of the United States under General Grant’s ad¬ 
ministration, was being hauled over the coals in Congress 
for alleged corruption in office. Among other charges pre¬ 
ferred against him was that he was using a carriage, 
known as a landau or landaulet, at the government’s ex¬ 
pense. He was also charged with having gotten his foot¬ 
man, or carriage driver’s name on the pay-rolls of the 
House, and was using him at government expense also. 
He was known in Washington as “Landaulet Williams” 
in consequence of all this. When his case was being con¬ 
sidered in Congress, Mr. Hoar defended him as did 
others, and spoke of his abilities as a lawyer. When they 
had concluded Hesmith arose. He was from the same 
State as Williams, who was also from Oregon. When 


27 


Nesmith began to speak the members at once crowded 
around him to hear the fun. After replying to all that 
had been said in Williams’ favor, when he came to reply 
to what Mr. H. and others had said as to his ability as a 
lawyer, he exclaimed: 

“Mr. Speaker, I have seen many a better lawyer than 
George H. Williams, in Oregon riding a fifty-dollar mule, 
an animal, sir, which has no pride of ancestry and no hope 
of posterity.” 

There was such an outburst of laughter when he said 
this that even Speaker Blaine himself could not hold in. 

But to record all the passages of wit that occur in Con¬ 
gress would swell these memoirs beyond their original 
scope and intention. Before leaving the subject, however, 
we would correct (if possible) a gross injustice. We refer 
to the persistent effort of certain newspaper men, and 
Washington correspondents especially, to underrate Con¬ 
gressmen. They seem to have a disposition, which has 
become chronic, to make our public men the butts of 
their clumsy ridicule. This they seem to imagine is wit, 
when the truth of the matter is, it is only license coupled 
with conceit and ill manners. They change their tune, 
however, when a member becomes needful to their inter¬ 
ests, and it then becomes a question whether their at¬ 
tempts at flattery, or their efforts at raillery are the more 
disgusting. 

We give it as our deliberate opinion, after an almost 
daily observation of four years, that a more learned or 
brilliant body of men than our National Congress, taken 
as a whole, is not to be found on the globe. It is true 
that a dunce now and then, in an off-year, or by virtue of 
money, will slip into Congress. But this is the case every¬ 
where, and especially so in the newspaper business, where 


28 


we have encountered more fools in one year than we saw 
in Congress in four. And whereas the weak brother takes 
a back seat in Congress, he contrives somehow to crowd to 
the front in journalism, where he utters more nonsense in 
six months than the average Congressman does in six 
years. And moreover Congressmen are more considerate 
of their weaker brethren. They have set aside certain 
portions of the hall of the House known as a Sleepy Hol¬ 
low” for their occupancy. As is well known, every new 
Congress draws for seats, and when one of these weaklings 
gets a prominent one, he is easily persuaded to exchange it 
with some able man who has drawn an obscure one, thus 
by natural selection, as it were, “Birds of a feather flock 
together,’ 7 even in the House of Representatives. In the 
quiet precincts of “Sleepy Hollow” these peaceable politi¬ 
cal accidents nod, chew tobacco, read the “Weaklies” from 
their Dee stricts, dispatch orders to the Agricultural De¬ 
partment for garden seed for their generous constituency, 
and enjoy themselves generally. They take no part in 
debate, nor in legislation, except to vote, and they usually 
select some leading man whose name comes on the roll in 
advance of theirs, as their guide, philosopher and friend, 
and follow his lead. An amusing incident, confirmatory of 
what I have just advanced, occurred one day, while I was 
in the House. An old gentleman who represented a cer¬ 
tain district in the South, and who was a denizen of 
“Sleepy Hollow,” was guided in his way of voting by 
Hon. James Beck, of Kentucky. But on this occasion, 
by some means, losing sight of his sign board, he voted 
with the Republicans. A brother Democrat recognizing 
the difficulty under which he would be placed, when he 
returned home, if called upon to explain his conduct, 
went to him and informed him of what he had just done. 


29 


He replied: “Ho, I’ll be d-d if I did either, for I 

voted as Beck did.” 

Nothing would convince him of his mistake until the 
record of the votes was shown him. Then he saw he 
would be on record as having voted with Ben Butler as 
against James Beck, the great exponent of the “unterrified 
Democracy” of the day, unless he arose in his place and 
obtained the Speaker’s consent that his vote be changed. 
He decided to adopt the latter alternate. But to himself 
it was a bitter pill. Never did a school boy tremble or 
blush more than did this representative of a Southern con¬ 
stituency. He was bald-headed and the blood rushed to 
his noddle until the skin on the top was as red as a turkey- 
gobbler’s snout in the month of May. He spoke so low 
that Mr. Blaine, who was the most courteous of men, put¬ 
ting his hand to his ear, said in the most deferential man¬ 
ner : 

“Will the gentleman please speak a little louder, as 
the chair cannot quite catch his remarks ?” 

He then managed, by a tremendous effort, to ejaculate: 

“Mr. Speaker, on the vote just taken, I am recorded as 
having voted ‘aye’. I wish to change it to ‘nay’.” 

This was the old gentleman’s first speech in Congress. 
His last was just about as long and equally luminous. 
There is, however, one bright saying of his which we can¬ 
not, in justice to him, let pass unnoticed. He only served 
one term, although he diligently sought a renomination. 
After his defeat in the convention, a resolution was offered 
and adopted that a committee be appointed to wait on him 
and thank him for his services in Congress. 

When the committee arrived at his hotel and delivered 
their message, the old fellow replied that “it was a h—11 
of a way to thank a man by nominating some one else.” 



30 


There is no disputing the correctness of this conclusion. 

At the time of which we speak, however, there were but 
few really weak men in Congress, and a majority of these 
few, we are sorry to say, were from the South. The rea¬ 
son is obvious. Men who had brains enough to make a 
record during the war were still suspected at the North, 
and so the South had to pick up just such men as had 
none in the past, and without ability to make any in the 
future, and send them to Washington. From 1866 to 1872 
was the dreariest period in the history of the Southern 
States. Her great men were under the ban and politically 
ostracised. Consequently she was represented at Wash¬ 
ington by as sorry a lot of men as ever were seen in public 
life. 


CHAPTER III. 


In the year 1872, that part of D. street northwest, lying 
between Tenth and Hinth streets, and on the north side of 
the same, was mainly occupied by the weekly newspapers 
of Washington, every one of which, without a solitary ex¬ 
ception, was issued on Sunday. This was done to catch 
the immense clerical force, which was idle on the Lord’s 
day, the great majority of whom, it may he remarked; 
showed their respect for the Sabbath by keeping it wholly 
to themselves. 

The first paper on the block was the National Republi¬ 
can, a daily, and the supposed organ of the administra¬ 
tion. Its proprietor was William J. Murtagh, a fine speci¬ 
men of the Sunday-school politician. He was rather a 
good looking man than otherwise, had one of those curling 
moustaches which are supposed to set young women crazy 
(though they never do), a shallow blue eye, a limping 
gait and the “cheek” of an army mule. A brainy young 
man by the name of John P. Foley, was editor in chief. 
Phil. Julian, a rollicking sort of a fellow with fat cheeks 
and bulging eyes, was city editor; James McHabb, a 
“regular,” was at the head of the reporters’ list. But two 
of the most historical gentlemen in the building were E. P. 
Brooks, assistant editor, and Fred Aiken. Brooks was one 
of those men who take the world as they find it, and find¬ 
ing it exceedingly wicked become so themselves, in order 
not to he lonesome. He was involved in some cadetship 
scandal in South Carolina, along with Congressman 
Bowen, from that State, out of which it is said Brooks got 
a good share of the “swag.” In business, like his great 


82 


prototype, Major Bagstock, he was “devilish sly.” But 
socially he was one of the best of fellows. But Fred 
Aiken was no ordinary man. Over six feet high, with a 
strong face, strong in its delineation of sensuality and yet 
luminous with the light of a grand intellect, he was a 
marked man. In thinking of him we could not hut he per¬ 
plexed to decide which would finally conquer—the intel¬ 
lectual or the sensual nature. It was always a puzzle to 
me to decide when he was happier, whether when he was 
tracing, as was his wont, the defects and beauties of a 
masterpiece in acting or painting, or whether when sur¬ 
rounded by boon companions at the Chesapeake restau¬ 
rant, on Pennsylvania avenue, he devoted the night to 
Bacchus. Poor fellow! He sleeps in an unknown grave 
to-day, he who might have won any honor that journalism 
could bestow. He was “heels over head” in debt, con¬ 
stantly pursued in consequence by relentless creditors, and 
this may have accounted for his seeking surcease from his 
sorrow in the cup that maddens. 

The next paper on D. street was the Herald, a staid old- 
maidenish journal, well adapted, no doubt, to the class of 
Sunday Christians, who drink toddies on the sly during 
the week, attend church Sunday morning and fall asleep 
while reading the Sunday paper after dinner. 

The next on the list was the Sunday Gazette, edited by 
Colonel Thomas B. Florence, one of the most remarkable 
men we ever met in that remarkable city. Colonel Florence 
was horn in Philadelphia, and began life as a hatter. 
Such was his popularity that when quite a young man he 
was nominated and elected to Congress from the same dis¬ 
trict then represented hv Hon. Samuel J. Randall When 
he retired from politics he went into journalism in Wash¬ 
ington. Here, as elsewhere, he was an optimist of the opti- 


33 


mists. Every one had access to the columns of the Sun¬ 
day Gazette. Did Dr. Mary Walker wish to air herself 
on “Why Women Should Wear Breeches/’ the Gazette 
was open to her. Did Mrs. Black wish to expatiate on the 
“Beauties of Free Love/’ she was free to do so. In fact, 
every subject supposed to agitate earth, heaven or hell was 
admitted except one. He never allowed anyone to be de¬ 
famed in his paper. He had to draw the line somewhere, 
and he drew it there. But his charity did not end at the 
office. His home, on Seventh street, south of the avenue, 
was a veritable hospital for tramp printers, broken-down 
office-seekers, played-out journalists and others. Nor did 
he confine his humanity to man. He would never allow a 
chicken to be killed and eaten, nor a cat and dog destroyed, 
but when they died a natural death, buried them in his 
garden. To say he was loved by well-nigh every one is a 
foregone conclusion. He had but one enemy in the world, 
and that was- Beau Hickman. Before giving the cause 
of this enmity, it may be well enough to give a pen por¬ 
trait of this prince of dead-beats. Beau Hickman was 
from eastern North Carolina. He came to Washington, 
so it is said, with an ample fortune, every cent of which 
was lost on horse-racing. This was away back in the 
thirties, when Clay, Webster, and Calhoun were in Con¬ 
gress, and with whom Beau always pretended to be very 
intimate. His first move, after losing all his money, was 
one which gave him the title of “Beau.” At that time 
there lived and did business in Washington a firm of 
tailors. Beau visited the establishment, had his “measure 
taken” for a fifty dollar suit of clothes, to be sent to his 
hotel, Brown’s, now the Metropolitan. In due time the 
suit arrived. Beau donned it at once, said nothing about 
pay, and sauntered off up the avenue. Day after day 
3 


34 


passed, and the tailors became uneasy about their money. 
At last the head of the firm waited upon Mr. Hickman, 
presented the bill, and demanded payment. To his utter 
surprise, Beau informed him that he owed him nothing. 

“Owe me nothing!” uttered the astonished creditor. 
Beau looked him in the face and exclaimed in that peculiar 
rasping tone of his: 

“What do you take me for ? a d——d fool ? Have I not 
sent you enough customers by telling my friends where 1 
got these clothes to pay you a dozen times over ? And here 
you come and insult a gentleman by demanding the pitiful 
sum of fifty dollars, when he has been the making of you.” 

The tailor was a shrewd man, saw the point, and, it is 
said, actually made a contract with Hickman to furnish 
him with three suits of clothes every year, free of charge, 
except his saying where he got them, and it is further al¬ 
leged that the tailor made the best investment of his life. 

While upon this line, we will notice a few more of his 
master strokes. On one occasion he wished to attend the 
races near Saratoga. Getting an old plug hat worth fifty 
cents perhaps, he procured a piece of red card board, stuck 
it in the brim and entered the train. He made himself 
as conspicuous as possible to his fellow-passengers, in ad¬ 
vance of the advent of the conductor. As soon as that 
functionary entered the door and cried out “tickets,” Beau 
stuck his head out of the window and pretended to be ab¬ 
sorbed in the contemplation of natural scenery. When 
the conductor reached him and touched him on the shoul¬ 
der, he jerked his head in, contriving as he did so, to 
strike his hat against the window and knock it off. 

“There now, sir,” he exclaimed, “you have made me 
lose both my hat and ticket together.” 

“You had no ticket,” said the officer. 



35 


“Do you mean to impeach my veracity, sir ? I can prove 
it by any of these gentlemen that I had my ticket in my 
hat band.” # 

His fellow travellers had seen the card-hoard, and mis¬ 
took it for the ticket, and corroborated him. Then Beau 
arose to the height of the occasion and informed the con¬ 
ductor that unless he passed him over the road and fur¬ 
nished him with a $5.00 hat, the value, he alleged, of his 
own, he would have him cashiered upon the first oppor¬ 
tunity. And it was said that the conductor complied with 
the terms laid down. 

Once more: He was in Baltimore on a certain occasion, 
and as was his wont, he put up at the best hotel in the city. 
When the dinner hour arrived Beau strolled into the spa¬ 
cious dining room as though his check was worth a million. 
When the waiter called for his order, he said in a manner 
that indicated he did not mean to be trifled with, “Bring 
me the worth of my money.” The waiter glided out as if 
on roller skates to fulfill the behests of the supposed mil¬ 
lionaire. He literally piled Pelion upon Ossa, and set 
before his guest an array of viands that would have done 
honor to Lucullus. 

“Have you wine ?” 

“Sartinlv, boss.” 

“Bring it at once.” 

The waiter flew to obey the order. By and by, having 
gotten away with his sumptuous repast, he pulled out his 
golden tooth-pick and strode leisurely back to the hotel 
register and said to that tremendous personage known as 
the hotel clerk: 

“Sir, I wish to settle my bill. Here is the money,” and 
he flung down a twenty-five cent piece on the counter. 

To say he paralyzed the paralyzer, is putting it mild. 


36 


It was fully a minute before be could utter a word, and 
then be exclaimed: 

“What do you take me for, and do you know this hotel ? 
Do you mean to insult me by offering the miserable pit¬ 
tance of twenty-five cents for a dinner worth at least a 
dollar and a half, to say nothing of. the bottle of cham¬ 
pagne V ’ 

“What are you blowing about V ’ exclaimed Beau. “I 
told the waiter to bring me the worth of my money. How 
in the d——1 am I to know what my money is worth at 
any particular boarding house or hotel ?” 

“I will call the proprietor,’’ said the clerk. 

“Do so,” said Beau; “I will be delighted to see him.” 

Soon he was at hand, and his first exclamation was, 
“How are you Beau ?” And when informed of what had 
just taken place, he said: 

“Beau, if you will go over to Barnum’s hotel and play 
the same thing off on Mr. Barnum I will give you ten dol¬ 
lars.” 

Beau answered: “I would like the best in the world to 
do so, Mr. Carroll, but Mr. Barnum paid me ten dollars 
yesterday to come over and work it on you to-day.” 

How, as to the reasons of Beau Hickman’s enmity to 
Colonel Florence. Before the late war, and while Colonel 
Florence was in Congress, Hickman laid a tariff of so 
many dollars on every congressional acquaintance he had 
in Washington, the Colonel among the number. He col¬ 
lected this “revenue,” as he called it, every month. The 
last time he called on Coloney Florence he was engaged 
in conversation on some important business matter with 
Hon. Samuel J. Randall. Beau, nothing daunted, came 
up and demanded his money, informing Colonel Florence 
that it was past due, and that it must be settled at once. 



37 


The Colonel handed him a dollar, saying: 

“Here Bean, take this; I am busy now.” 

To his surprise and indignation, Hickman threw the 
money on the floor, and exclaimed: 

“Do you think I am a d—*—d dog ?” 

We have already said that Colonel Florence was one o± 
the best men we ever knew, but when he was mad he was 
mad all over. Turning to Beau Hickman, he exclaimed: 

“You infamous dead-beat! You pernicious scoundrel! 
If you ever speak to me again as long as you live, I will 
cut your ears off.” 

Colonel Florence informed me that this episode had 
occurred eighteen years before, and in that long time Beau 
Hickman had not only never spoken to him, but if he 
(Hickman) started to enter a street car and perceived that 
he was aboard, he invariably retraced his steps and waited 
for the next one. 

The last time the writer ever saw Beau Hickman, he 
was standing on his accustomed “beat” on the north side 
of Pennsylvania avenue, at the corner of Seventh street. 
In spite of all that was degrading in his life, he had a 
distingue air resembling some old broken down French 
Count or German Baron, and contrived by means of his 
cigar, his talma, his umbrella and his cane, to keep up 
appearances to the last. He has been dead several years. 

Another notable character which could he often seen at 
the Sunday Gazette office was Dr. Mary Walker. 

This diminutive thing (it would he unjust to the fair 
sex to call her a woman) could be generally seen at the 
Gazette office every evening. It wore a pair of navy-blue 
pantaloons, baggy about the ankles, a pair of hootlets, a 
sack coat, encircled by a belt, a collar and necktie, a man’s 
hat, and it always carried an umbrella. It had a claim 



38 


before Congress for services rendered during the war, for 
ten thousand dollars, but which had been whittled down 
by successive Congresses to about two thousand five hun¬ 
dred dollars. In order to push this, it might have been seen 
any hour of the day between 10 A. M. and 4 P. M. busy 
button-holding Congressmen. It had but one idea and that 
was so thin that it always seemed on the verge of intel¬ 
lectual starvation. Its head was about the size of a cocoa- 
nut and its face always wore a pinched expression. While 
other female cranks at the National Capital and else¬ 
where placed the freedom of woman in the ballot, Doctress 
Mary put it in the right of woman to wear a man’s pants, 
and thus became the champion for that in reality, which 
other women aspire to figuratively. It wrote a little book 
on its pet subject, which it called “The Hit,” but whether 
it ever made one is very doubtful. The last time we ever 
heard of her she was figuring as a go-between in a love 
affair on the part of a young lawyer, who bore the odd 
name of Crypti Palmoni, and a young lady, and such was 
her erratic conduct that she became the subject of a news¬ 
paper article. 

The next weekly Sunday paper was one whose editor 
made a national reputation. It was the Capital, owned 
and edited by Colonel Donn Piatt. And the reason was 
obvious. He was one of the most brilliant editors Wash¬ 
ington ever knew. His wit took the form of irony and 
burlesque, and not a Sunday came round that he did not 
make some public official fighting mad. He seemed to 
take a special delight in poking fun at the late Zach 
Chandler, and at last the old gentleman was made so angry 
by Colonel Piatt’s ridicule that he armed himself with a 
good stout stick and went “gunning” for the Colonel. He 
found him in the Congressional Library, and made an 


39 


assault upon him, but the Colonel wrenched the stick 
from him, and the combatants were separated. Another 
notable affair in which Colonel Piatt was concerned was 
with Colonel Fred Grant and his brother-in-law, Collector 
Casey. At the inauguration ball, given in honor of Gen¬ 
eral Grant’s election to the Presidency, the weather was 
bitterly cold, and Miss Nellie Grant, now Mrs. Sartoris, 
attended in ball-room costume. Colonel Piatt criticised 
her in such a way as gave offence to the whole Grant 
family. The result was that Colonel Grant and the Col¬ 
lector proceeded to the office to chastise him. Colonel 
Piatt was on the qui vive, however, and having gotten 
wind of their purpose, wired the Central police office of 
the threatened assault, and when the gentlemen arrived 
at the Capital office, the policeman was present and ar¬ 
rested them both, took them to headquarters and made 
them give a heavy bond to keep the peace. 

Colonel Piatt still mistrusted them, however, for when 
I called upon him a few days afterwards I found a boy at 
the door of his sanctum, who demanded my card. I told 
him I had none, but to go in and tell the Colonel my 
name, which he did, and then it was that Colonel Piatt told 

me that he did not know at what hour some d-n fool 

might come in seeking satisfaction, and he had determined 
to get the drop on him as he entered the door. He then 
pulled open the drawer of his writing desk, and showed me 
a brace of revolvers right to his hand. 

Any one familiar with Colonel Piatt’s caustic style of 
writing would never form a correct idea of his personal ap¬ 
pearance. They would be very apt to imagine he was lean 
and dyspeptic. On the contrary, he was a man of stal¬ 
wart frame, with high cheek bones and a head and face 
which strongly reminded one of the portraits of Charles 



40 


Dickens. Nor did the resemblance end here. His style 
was mnch on the order of Dickens, and, like the latter, he 
was never partial to anything he undertook to write. Fig¬ 
uratively speaking, he never seemed to think a man’s 
throat was cut until his head came off. Another man, 
whose righteous soul Colonel Piatt vexed over much, was 
Rev. John P. Newman, now Bishop Newman, of the 
Episcopal Methodist Church. Nearly every Sunday morn¬ 
ing he would begin an article by saying, “The Reverend 
John Philpott Newman, of the Memorial—Metropolitan 
Church—with the chimes attached, preached last Sun¬ 
day/’ and would ridicule the whole performance without 
mercy. As to Congress, he never pretended to call it any¬ 
thing else but “The Fog Bank.” By all of which, the 
Sunday Capital became a terror to all thin-skinned people 
in public life in Washington, and probably caused more 
laughter than any paper ever known before or since. 
Everybody read it, and even Mrs. Southworth, whom the 
Colonel had ridiculed as hair-brained, and who had for¬ 
bidden the servant to touch the paper, nevertheless, got 
hold of it clandestinely and read it. 

No argument is needed to establish the fact that literary 
people need money. They eat and sleep, and drink, too, 
when they have obliging friends, and must have clothing 
also. Living on inspiration, like subsistence on love, is 
only one of those poetic fancies which young men with a 
minimum amount of gray matter and a maximum quan¬ 
tity of adipose tissue in their brain cells indulge in. Jupi¬ 
ter may have satisfied the cravings of the inner man with 
a diet of nectar and ambrosia, but real flesh and blood 
poets must have bread and meat. So it was in the present 
instance, and we will now proceed to show how we under¬ 
took to procure “the sinews” not only of war, but of poetry 
also. 


41 


At the time of which we write there was in the House 
from Georgia, one of the oddest specimens of a Congress¬ 
man ever seen in Washington. He was an upheaval of 
the granger “craze,” which swept over the South about 
twenty years ago. This old fellow was foot-loose, fancy- 
free and independent as the traditional wood-sawyer. It 
was his wont to stroll down the aisle of the House with 
one pant leg crammed down in his boot, while his hair, 
which always appeared innocent of a comb, stood out like 
the quills upon the fretful porcupine, and was never en¬ 
tirely free from a suspicion of a few wisps of hay clinging 
to it. Well, he was a greenbacker also, and was just burn¬ 
ing, as it were, to deliver a speech in favor of his pet 
financial theory, as the following will show. 

One morning, as I was standing in the lobby of the 
House, a gentleman with whom I was on intimate terms, 
approached me and said: 

“Do you wish to make some money ?” 

I informed him that I had not quite mastered the science 
of living without it, and until I should have solved the 
conundrum then under consideration, I would be glad to 
do so. 

He then informed me that this old fellow aforesaid 
wished to make a speech in favor of a greenback currency, 
for which he had agreed to pay $75.00, and my friend 
said he would give me half the amount paid him by the 
Congressman, if I would prepare it and have it ready by 
the next morning. I accepted the proposition, and at once 
went to work, and during nearly the entire night I 
wrestled with those tremendous problems of finance, which 
have agitated the government since its foundation. 
When day came it was finished. At the appointed hour 
I delivered the speech into the hands of my friend, and 


42 


he, in turn, to his Congressional contractor. The old man 
took it and said he would attend to the matter presently. 
He expected to' deliver it the next day. But, sad to relate, 
when Mr. Beck, of Kentucky, had finished speaking on 
the currency question a vote was taken and our greenback 
orator was shelved without a word. He came out to us 
with a rueful countenance and begged off his contract. 
And thus departed the last chance I ever had of being 
heard on the floor of Congress. It is sad to contemplate 
the fate of that speech. It is a subject too deep for tears. 
Had he delivered it, it would have been printed, scattered 
broadcast over a certain district in the Empire State, and 
been read by thousands. Or it might have fallen bodily 
into the hands of the village postmaster, who in turn might 
have disposed of it to the village merchants for wrapping 
paper, and thus become a potential factor in the internal 
commerce of our great republic. There is one consolation 
left to us, however, the old fellow failed to be renominated, 
and we shall ever lay the flattering unction to our souls 
that his failure to deliver that speech was the cause of it. 

“The mills of the gods grind slowly, 

But they grind exceedingly fine.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


When a stranger first conies in view of Hew York, the 
first impression made upon him is that of vastness. It 
literally seems to cover the whole earth. When he enters 
it his next idea will be its velocity. Street cars, known as 
elevated railroads, whizz past him overhead with such 
celerity as makes him dizzy. The rush and roar of the 
great metropolis is appalling. When this sensation has 
been in a measure abated, he is annoyed at its vice, open, 
unblushing, not awaiting even the curtain of night to hide 
its indecencies. The almighty dollar is its tutelary 
divinity, and upon its shrine beautiful women by myriads 
immolate themselves, and to win its favor, even in broad 
daylight, expose the sign of the beast with unblushing 
forehead. Men hurry after it as if the devil himself were 
after them and ready to lay his hot hissing hand upon 
them. The Sabbath is derided. Bands of music on every 
pleasure boat, dancing in full blast, the bar-rooms at 
Coney Island wide open, more music, hundreds of couples 
in the broad pavillion whirling and hugging each other in 
lascivious waltz or suggestive Scottish. Fifteen hundred 
more, men, women and children, all bathing together in the 
sea on the Sabbath day. Let the curtain fall. 

Having been accustomed to the wide and airy streets 
of Washington, I felt cramped in Gotham. I had read of 
Broadway from boyhood, and was disappointed, of course, 
at the sight of it. It may be, for aught I know to the con¬ 
trary, wider than Pennsylvania avenue. But such is the 
mass of people who throng it at all hours, day and night, 


44 


that one would never think so. And yet this thoroughfare 
is a world in itself. You may hear upon it the sound of 
every civilized' language, see any type of man or woman 
to be found not only upon the face of the whole earth, 
but even such as are described in dime novels. It was 
Saturday when I arrived in the great city. Next morn¬ 
ing at 11 o’clock I was seated in Plymouth Church. Talk 
about the wonders of nature. Nothing draws like a great 
man, nothing is rarer than a great man, except a great 
woman. I went there to hear the great pulpit orator, 
Henry Ward Beecher. Notwithstanding I got to the 
church an hour before the services began, so great was the 
crush I was lucky even to get a seat in the gallery. The 
pulpit was decked with rare and beautiful flowers in the 
shape of two mammoth bouquets, which were placed along¬ 
side the cushion on which the open Bible lay, and from 
the center of each of these bouquets arose a magnificent 
Japonica or Calla lily. A splendid setting for this great 
orator of nature as well as art. After the rendition of 
some choice music by the choir, the pulpit Titan made his 
appearance. We may as well remark here as elsewhere, 
that the wood-cuts of Mr. Beecher, so often seen in the 
public prints, are misleading, inasmuch as they give his 
face a leonine cast, when, in fact, it was infantile. It 
was a strong one, hut not at all fierce. His cheeks were as 
rosy and tender apparently as a maiden’s of sixteen. He 
had a magnificent head, resembling somewhat that of Ben¬ 
jamin Pranklin. Although rotund, his carriage was grace¬ 
ful and easy. After a short prayer, he took his text, and 
preached on that, which was to him, an inexhaustible 
theme—The Love of God. He swayed the vast audience 
at his will, apparently without effort. Like all genuine 
orators, when he had no more to say, he did not say it, hut 


45 


sat down. I was delighted to have heard such a man. It 
is true, that while in Washington, I had listened to some 
orations that have become historical. I had also heard 
that most marvelous of the sons of men in this generation, 
William E. Munsey, whose imperial imagination took the 
mightiest reason prisoner, and led it without a murmur 
through the infinite spaces of eternity. But in listening 
to Mr. Beecher I was listening to a man who, for thirty 
years, as an orator, stood without a rival. “His infinite 
variety knew no decay.” 

That afternoon I spent in Central Park. I saw no evi¬ 
dence of its being the Sabbath day. It scarcely resembled 
an ordinary week day, looking more like some gala occa¬ 
sion than anything else. What with the gay parties who 
went speeding past you in grand turn-outs. What with 
the hotel bar-room in full blast; what with the laughter 
of children, the shy flirtations of pretty nurses with an 
eye to the main chance, made up a scene quite bewildering 
to one, who, despite his experience in Washington, had 
seen nothing like it before. 

On the next day (Monday) I reported for duty at the 
World office, but was informed that the proprietor, Wil¬ 
liam Henry Hurlbert, was not in, but that at 2 P. M. 
he would be, and was requested to call again at that hour. 
I did so, and found Mr. Hurlbert in his office. He received 
me most graciously, and I was not long in ascertaining 
that my employer was no ordinary man. He was loaded 
to the gunwales with all sorts of information on all kinds 
of subjects. He could discourse as elegantly in true 
Parisienne as a veritable Frenchman himself. He knew 
all men worth knowing in every part of the habitable 
globe. The political history of his own country was at 
his finger’s ends, and seemed as familiar to him as his 


46 


alphabet. He knew the private, as well as the public, 
record of every important actor on the political stage, 
both Democratic and [Republican. He was apparently 
fifty years old and strikingly handsome. He was born in 
Charleston, S. C., and sympathized with the maligned 
section. He would have been a great man but for one 
thing. He knew too much. His learning mastered, nay, 
literally overwhelmed him. He could cite so many differ¬ 
ent opinions on all subjects that he forgot that he had any 
himself. His enormous receptive faculty atrophied the 
analytical, and like the late Charles Sumner, or Lord 
McCauley (to use one of the Sidney Smith similes), in 
conversation he literally “slopped over.” 

Such was the man for whom we had to “report” at the 
rate of $35.00 per week. I was assigned to duty under 
a Mr. Brownell, city editor, a passable young fellow, with¬ 
out sufficient force for me to recall anything about him ex¬ 
cept that he endorsed all my checks when I received my 
pay. I was informed that it was not necessary for me to 
report each morning to him in person, but could consult 
the register in his office, in which would be found my 
duties for each day opposite to my name. “The Glorious 
Fourth” was at hand, and I knew from sad experience 
what it meant for a newspaper man. It means that whilst 
others have full swing to enjoy themselves and allow their 
patriotism to manifest itself in almost any way, and even 
to allow them to grow hilarious without offence, it meant 
anything else for a newspaper reporter. He is either on 
a stretch all day, or else bored to death with incipient ora¬ 
tory during the time and compelled to sit up three-quarters 
of the night to so arrange and straighten out these joint 
productions of vanity and “tangle-foot” so that their au¬ 
thors may not appear ridiculous next morning. 


47 


Well, it came at midnight the third day of July, and 
were we to live as long as Methuselah, and never witness 
another such, we could never forget this. I was sitting 
on my three-legged stool in the World office when the 
cyclone struck the city. There came such an infernal 
roar in concert of steamboat whistles, fog-horns, locomo¬ 
tive screams, factory gongs and artillery salvos, as came 
near knocking me clean off the aforesaid stool. This pan¬ 
demonium of noises lasted fully fifteen minutes, and was 
accompanied with the most lavish and brilliant display 
of fireworks I ever witnessed. 

I had been under the impression, until then, that the 
Southern people were the most demonstrative people on 
the globe, with the possible exception of Frenchmen. But 
that night and the following day convinced me that there 
is some force in the expression, “The Loyal North.’’ 
When the sun rose next morning it shone upon New York, 
Brooklyn-, Jersey City and Hoboken literally festooned 
with flags, banners, bannerettes, mottoes and patriotic de¬ 
vices. The enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. 
Society after society paraded the streets with brass bands. 
There was music on the steamboats, music in the parks, 
music in the hotels, music in the air, music everywhere. 

But amid all this riotous joy, this tornado of enthusi¬ 
asm, there was one who walked the streets of the great 
city on this great day with feelings of utter desolation and 
loneliness. It was myself. Of this vast multitude, brim¬ 
ful of enjoyment, I knew not one. I was a stranger in a 
strange land, and having served three long years in the 
Confederate army, having been a participant in the glories 
of “The Lost Cause,” heard the earthquake voice of vic¬ 
tory of Lee’s immortals at White Oak Swamp, at Cold 
Harbor, at Malvern Hill, I felt that if I were known, and 


48 


even joined in the general joy, I would be regarded as a 
“suspect.” And although I knew our own Southern Wash¬ 
ington had done more in the “brave days of old” to make 
the Fourth of July possible, as well as the common prop¬ 
erty of the whole American people, still, for the life of me, 
I could not shake off the impression that I was in some 
foreign land on this particular day. Then, as I thought 
of my dead comrade-in-arms, whose bones lay bleaching 
on a hundred battlefields, where they fell in defence of 
what they thought was a just cause, and how that cause 
to-day must be mentioned with bated breath, I must own 
that a feeling akin to resentment stirred my heart, as I 
saw all this real or simulated joy. This Centennial 
Fourth I knew was mine more than theirs, for the im¬ 
mortal Declaration had been conceived by a Virginian’s 
brain, and drawn by a Virginian’s hand, but a stranger, 
not knowing these things, and witnessing all I have de¬ 
scribed, would not imagine, that from the Ireland of 
America, the South emanated those great principles and 
great men, which the day was to commemorate. But a 
truce to my impressions. I had work to do that day and 
a plenty of it. When I arrived at the office in the morn¬ 
ing and consulted the register, I found the following stun¬ 
ning entry: “Brooklyn, Jersey City, Hoboken and Staten 
Island. Slick.” When you recall the fact that I had 
been in Hew York only a few days, and that I knew but 
one person outside of the office, that even the streets, with 
the exception of Broadway and Fifth avenue, were un¬ 
known to me by name, you can form some idea of my sen¬ 
sations on reading this portentous announcement, re¬ 
quiring me to collect all the day’s doing in these places. 
I thought at first of demurring, but as it was the first ser¬ 
vice which had been required of me, and for aught I knew, 


49 


was a test of my capacity, I determined to comply. Pro¬ 
ceeding to Brooklyn about 3 o’clock P. M., I encountered 
a little fellow selling the evening edition of “The Eagle.” 
I bought a copy, and finding it contained an account of 
what had taken place up to that hour in the “City of 
Churches,” I put it in my pocket and hurried back to Ful¬ 
ton Ferry, and in ten minutes was again in Gotham. 
Standing on the wharf a few minutes I perceived a 
steamer which plied between it and Staten Island. I 
sought the captain at once, and gleaned from him an ac¬ 
count of what was being done on Staten Island. I then 
took a street car and was soon aboard the Jersey City 
boat, and in a few minutes more was in that superfluous 
suburb. Here I procured another evening paper, and 
went on my way rejoicing, to Hoboken. Here I came 
near meeting my Waterloo! I could find no newsboy and 
no newspaper. Nearly every man I met was a Dutchman, 
or a son of one, and in answer to my queries, would either 
shake his head or utter something that sounded like the 
noise made by a file in the hands of a lumberman, sharpen¬ 
ing a cross-cut saw. But I finally procured a copy of a 
weekly newspaper, which came out that morning, and 
which was full of reasonable guesses as to what would take 
place that day. I knew now the battle was won. I went 
to my room, on McDougal street, and having rested 
thoroughly, procured a pair of scissors from my landlady 
and went to work. I cut the accounts from each paper, 
spread them out before me, and soon transcribed them 
into my own language and style. I was now ready to re¬ 
port, but decided not to do so too early, lest those lynx- 
eyed fellows in the office should have their suspicions 
aroused, and discover the cause of so much promptitude. 
Accordingly, at a seasonable hour, I went to the office and 
4 


50 


mounted my stool, where I made pretense of being busily 
engaged in writing up my note book. In a short time 
thereafter the foreman of the press-room came out and, 
standing by me a minute in silence, said, “Young man, put 
on steam.” When I told him I had already done so, and 
handed him my manuscript, he exclaimed, “What! al¬ 
ready!” and went his way. 

My career in the Metropolis, though brief, afforded one 
striking incident, which, in view of the prominence of the 
party of the first part, I will narrate in full. 

It will be remembered then that in 1876 the Hon. 
Samuel J. Tilden, of Hew York, was nominated by the 
Democratic party for the Presidency. This, of course, 
made every movement of the “Sage of Gramercy Park” 
noticeable, if not important. A monster ratification meet¬ 
ing had been held; the clans were mustering in every 
ward, and tides of Democratic eloquence and enthusiasm 
were rolling through the city. In the midst of all this, 
Mr. Tilden came down from Albany to Hew York, and 
went at once to his city residence, Gramercy Park. Se¬ 
crecy was his aim in coming and going, as he came in the 
night time unannounced. But alas! Who can escape the 
eagle eye of a city editor, except his tailor and washer¬ 
woman. At the witching hour of midnight I was called 
into the sanctum of Mr. Hurlbert himself and requested 
to call upon Mr. Tilden and ascertain whether he would 
he serenaded on the following evening. Thus instructed, 
I repaired to the residence of the great man. I pulled 
the door-hell twice before anyone came to answer the sum¬ 
mons. But at last the massive door swung open, and a 
somewhat youngish looking man, whom I took to he Col¬ 
onel Pelton, confronted me and wished to know my busi¬ 
ness. When I told him I came from the World and 


51 


wished to see Mr. Tilden, he invited me in, and requested 
me to take a seat on a chair near the door, and he would 
let me know presently whether my wish could be gratified. 
During his absence I took note of my surroundings. On 
the walls of the hall-way were some fine oil-paintings of 
the fathers of the republic. These worthies of the past 
seemed to look down upon me and say, “Thank God!! I 
lived and died before the modern newspaper interviewer 
was born.” A chandelier, in which a lamp was dimly burn¬ 
ing, was suspended from the ceiling and cast a weird 
light over their features. At the end of the hall-way was 
a door, opening into a room into which the youngish man 
had vanished. Presently this same door was pushed open, 
and there came forth as lean, as lank and as cadaverous 
looking mortal as my eyes ever beheld. On his head he 
wore a skull-cap, and his feet, which he dragged along the 
floor, were encased in yellow leather slippers. The hall¬ 
way was long, and it was some time before he came in 
whispering distance, for he could not talk above one. For 
the life of me, all the conceptions I ever formed of the 
ghost in Hamlet seemed personified in the figure coming 
towards me. At last he confronted me and extended a 
hand which, for all the world, reminded me so strongly, 
when I grasped it, of Uriah Heep’s, as described by 
Dickens, that it sent a cold shudder through my frame. 
ITis first words, which were whispered with a vehemence, 
that T was not aware before this mode of speech was capa¬ 
ble of, were: 

“What do you want of me at this time of night ?” 

Seeing the Governor was not in an amiable mood, I 
begged him to pardon the intrusion, and informed him 
that I had come at the request of Mr. Hurlbert, who would 
be glad to know whether a serenade would be tendered him 
the following evening. 


52 


“Ho, and I don’t want any serenade either. I can’t 
come down here from Albany to attend to a little busi¬ 
ness, but what I must be hauled up at all hours of the 
night.” 

I again begged him not to blame me, as I was acting in 
obedience to orders, and could not do otherwise, to which 
he replied: “I wish you all would let me alone.” I saw 
he was softening a little, and presently he asked me if I 
would do him a favor, and tried to induce me to promise 
in advance that I would do so. I told him that I could not 
make the promise in advance of the request, hut that if it 
was in my power I would take pleasure in doing so. He 
then asked me would I promise him that his name should 
not appear in the World next morning. I informed him 
that I could not do so, as the paper was not mine. He 
then asked me to request it as a personal favor from Mr. 
Hurlbert. I told him I would, and the interview was at 
at an end. I must confess to a want of enterprise on my 
part. Had I possessed it, the columns of the World next 
morning under the flaming headlines of “Mr. Tilden In¬ 
terviewed” would have given his opinions on the platform 
adopted at St. Louis, the foreign and domestic commerce 
of the country, our relations with Mexico and Central 
America, our coast and harbor defences, and hundreds of 
other things.” There would not have been a word of truth 
in it, hut what difference would that have made ? Ho one 
except Mr. Tilden and myself would have known any bet¬ 
ter, and the poor, assified, gullible public would have 
gulped it down as the most veracious piece of informa¬ 
tion possible. But for fear of touching on the favorite 
field of the Colossal Liar I forehore. 

When I returned to the office and informed my chief 
of the result of my mission, with its accompanying de- 


53 


tails, he laughed heartily, and said the Governor’s diges¬ 
tion was not good that evening. His name did not appear 
in the World next morning. 

From our perch in the World office we occasionally saw 
the head and shoulders of a man engaged in writing in 
the sanctum of the Sun. The man to whom they belong is 
known from one end of this country to the other. It was 
neither more nor less than Charles A. Dana, the greatest 
newspaper writer this country has ever produced. Of 
every weapon known to newspaper warfare Charles A. 
Dana was a master. Did he wish to use ridicule, his 
irony was as biting as Swift’s. Did he wish to crush a 
corporation, he could summon more damaging facts from 
sources deemed inaccessible than any living man. His 
moral courage was phenomenal. Solitary and alone, he 
fought one of the most remarkable battles ever known in 
this country. We refer to his fight against the “Boss 
Shepherd Ring,” of Washington. We were living in 
Washington at the time, and were acquainted with the 
facts in the case, but it would require a volume of itself 
to narrate them. But there is one incident in Mr. Dana’s 
career that we cannot pass by. We refer to his exposure 
of what is known as the “Great Gredit Mobilier Scandal” 
of 1871. Some time during the summer of that year it 
was charged by the Sun that certain members of Congress, 
whose names were given, had been bribed by that corpora¬ 
tion, of which company a brief notice is necessary. What 
is known as the Credit Mobilier originated in France and 
was first introduced in this country by George Francis 
Train upon the inception of the street car system in Hew 
York. To come to the point then, under the name of 
Credit Mobilier, a company had been formed to construct 
the Union Pacific Railway. Of this corporation Hon. 


54 


Oakes Ames, a member of Congress from Massachusetts, 
was secretary and treasurer. He was the alleged briber. 
This notice in the Sun aroused the whole country, and 
when Congress met in December, a Committee of Investi¬ 
gation was at once appointed by Speaker Blaine, and 
proceeded to take testimony. Among the first men to be 
summoned was Hon. Schuyler Colfax, Vice-President of 
the United States, who was one of the accused parties. 
He stoutly protested his innocence of the charge, as did all 
the rest of the accused Congressmen. It may as well be 
stated that Mr. Ames had already been examined by the 
committee, and evinced no hesitancy in saying he had 
made use of the stock, and said he saw nothing wrong in 
it, that all stock companies were in the habit of placing 
stock in the hands of those whose influence would be 
beneficial to them. In short, he said he thought he had 
put his money where it would “do the most good.” When¬ 
ever, however, the old gentleman perceived that his weak- 
kneed fellow-Congressmen, were endeavoring to make a 
scape-goat of himself by lying out of it, he determined to 
make a clean breast of it and give the whole thing away, 
which he accordingly did, by producing a memoranda of 
moneys alleged to have been paid to Mr. Colfax and others. 
The Vice-President had long been considered the highest 
type of. a “Christian statesman.” For years he had lived, 
moved and had his being in the odor of sanctity, and 
when he was accused of this grave oflence, and after all 
the damaging evidence against him had been submitted, 
a cry of Peck-Sniffian horror went up from the saintly 
precincts of the modern Mecca. His pastor, Rev. John 
Philpot Newman, in a speech delivered at Lincoln Hall, a 
few nights after the exposure, said it was a sin against 
Christianity to accuse such a man of so grave a charge. 


55 


He argued as though it were the mission of Christianity 
to protect frauds instead of exposing them. Moreover, had 
some insignificant member of Newman’s church been 
accused of robbing a hen roost instead of the government, 
in lieu of being defended he would have been fired out of 
that favorite bower of political saints known as the Metro¬ 
politan church, with such celerity as would have made his 
head swim. It is not for us to say that Mr. Colfax was 
guilty, for in justice to his memory, we believe that Hon. 
Daniel W. Yoorhees, who was from the same State and of 
another political party, and who was a member of the 
House, and knew all the testimony, gave it as his opinion 
that the Vice-President was not a guilty man. 

The matter grew in intensity every day, and finally 
culminated in bringing the question of expulsion of two 
men from the House. And we may remark that these two 
men were perhaps the least deserving of censure. They 
were Messrs. Ames, of Massachusetts, and Brooks, of 
Hew York. Mr. A.’s side of the case has already been 
given. How for Mr. Brooks. This gentleman, who was a 
democrat from Hew York, had a son-in-law named 
Heilson, and the latter had written to him concerning this 
stock, and being satisfied it would be a paying investment, 
concluded to make a purchase, and instructed his father- 
in-law to buy $15,000 worth of it, for which he (Heilson) 
furnished the money. Mr. B. made no denial of having 
done this for Mr. Heilson, and was corroborated in his 
statement by Mr. Ames. But public clamor demanded a 
victim, and these two men were selected. The day for 
deciding the question of expulsion was set. Hever shall 
we forget the scene. Long before the morning hour 
arrived the capitol was surging with a vast crowd of both 
sexes. The galleries were chock full of human beings. 


56 


All the ladies of the diplomatic corps, the wives and 
daughters of Senators, Representatives and other big 
government officials were admitted to the floor of the 
House. It was known that Mr. Voorhees would speak for 
Mr. Brooks, and General Butler for Mr. Ames. At last 
the fateful hour came. Mr. Voorhees arose. Any one 
who has never seen Daniel W. Voorhees, nor read his 
matchless defence of young Cook, the John Brown 
conspirator, at Harper’s Ferry in 1859, can form but a 
faint idea of his presence and power. Over six feet high, 
broad shouldered, with an immense head covered with a 
profusion of tawny colored hair, combed back from his 
ample forehead, gave him a leonine aspect indeed, and 
reminded the writer of that Titan of the French Revolu¬ 
tion, Mirabeau, as drawn by the graphic pens of McCauley 
and Carlyle. He began in measured and slow tones, 
befitting the solemnity of the occasion. He commenced 
his speech by an illustration from nature, saying that “as 
we pass along an accustomed highway, and see some aged 
monarch of the forest, denuded of its bark and stript of 
its foliage, lying prone upon the earth, it excites in our 
breasts an emotion of sorrow, but yet one in keeping with 
the fitness of things, that all things old must die. But 
on the other hand when we pass along the same road and 
see some mighty oak, which but an hour before was tower¬ 
ing to the skies, and whose branches waved, as it were, 
defiance to its foe—the approaching storm, and whose 
mammoth roots had clasped the granite foundation 
beneath it, when this is thrown headlong to the earth, the 
idea of violence is at once excited in our minds, and we 
say no ordinary storm could have done this.” When Mr. 
Voorhees used the word “violence,” he threw upon it an 
emphasis that thrilled all who heard it. This was the 


57 


key-note of his speech. He went on to show that his 
client hitherto in all the relations of life, had been so 
blameless, so upright, that the foundation of his character 
was granite-like, and ridiculed the idea that such a man 
could be overthrown by such a South Sea Bubble as the 
Credit Mobilier, and wound up with a matchless appeal 
to his fellow-Congressmen not to be guilty of such an 
outrage as expelling such a man as Mr. Brooks from the 
House of Representatives. Meagre as it is, perhaps what 
we have written may give a faint idea of Mr. Voorhees’s 
speech. 

It was now Gen. Butler’s turn to speak. 

General Butler, as the world knows, was not a hand¬ 
some man. His physical appearance was so grotesque 
that a cartoonist had only to draw it naturally in order to 
caricature it. One of his eye-lids was paralyzed, and in 
order to see out of that eye he was compelled to throw 
his head back, and he had a squint in the other. His 
body was rotund and bulky, and his walk was a waddle 
like that of a Muscovy duck. But he had an immense 
head and a finely chiselled nose. As a public speaker he 
had every drawback. He had a way as it were of swallow¬ 
ing his words and then jerking them out by main force. 
In consequence, his enunciation was faulty in the extreme. 
But the mighty intellect of this remarkable man overcame 
what would have been impossible in weaker men, and 
whenever he arose to speak in Congress the members of 
that body would crowd around him so as not to lose a 
word. 

On this occasion he was the observed of all observers. 
For years he had been ridiculing “The Christian States¬ 
men,” and now that an opportunity was presented, it was 
expected that he would flay them alive. Nor did anyone 


58 


who supposed so, reckon without his host. His onslaught 
upon those canting hypocrites was simply terrific. He 
began his address by saying that this year is a bad one for 
Christian statesmen, and then went into a discussion of 
their conduct, in seeking to make a scape-goat of a man who 
was their equal in intelligence and far their superior in 
honesty. It would be impossible, however, to follow Gen. 
Butler all through his speech, but when he came to his 
conclusion, pointing to Mr. Ames, he exclaimed, “There!. 
Sir, is a man who, whatever his faults may be, has one 
virtue in keeping with the Father of Our Country— he 
will not tell a lie ” The effect of this last utterance was 
electrical. Old man Ames was so overcome that he sobbed 
aloud. He was of a giant frame with stolid features, an 
immense mouth and a dull eye, and as he sat there and the 
hot tears were seen trickling down his rugged cheeks, he 
evoked sentiments of tenderness and pity that even to this 
day palliate his guilt and soften his memory. The result 
was that instead of voting for expulsion, the House con¬ 
tented itself with open censure at its bar by Speaker 
Blaine. This was a sad scene, and as the two men stood 
in front of the speaker’s desk to receive it, all present 
seemed to realize the solemnity of the occasion, and there 
were tears in the speaker’s voice as he uttered the will of 
the House. And thus ended the greatest scandal known 
in the history of the Congress of the United States, and 
it is a strange coincidence, that the two principal figures 
in it died within a short time thereafter. 

The credit of this great exposure of corruption in high 
places is due in the main to the ability and moral courage 
of one man—Charles A. Dana, and it is a noteworthy fact 
that from that time to this, Congress has been conducted 
upon a higher plane so far as corruption is concerned. 


CHAPTER V. 


Having helped, to make the political fortunes of several 
members of Congress, and tiring of the treadmill of 
journalism, and especially of the drudgery of school-teach¬ 
ing, I made up my mind to seek an office once more. 
I accordingly resigned the presidency of an Alabama 
college, and repaired once more to that political Mecca, 
Washington city. I had already forwarded to Gen. 
Joseph Wheeler my petition, numerously signed by his 
supporters and friends. Upon my arrival, I at once pre¬ 
sented myself to the General, who received me cordially, 
but I perceived at once by reading between the lines of 
his face, something which seemed to say “Poor fellow, he 
little knows the nature of his undertaking.” General 
Wheeler is one of those physical curiosities, we not often 
encounter, and which nearly always deceives us. Looking 
at his frail proportions and sallow countenance one would 
never suspect him of being as active as a cat, as energetic 
as a bee, and one of the hardest workers in Congress. 
But he is though, and the number of bills and resolutions 
introduced by the little General is ahead of any other 
member. The General informed me that he would be 
pleased to have me call on him at his residence next 
morning at ten o’clock, and we could discuss the matter 
more fully. I called and he said the best way (the bell 
rang) was for the applicant to find out some particular 
one of those rare specimens of humanity only to be 
encountered on the loftiest summits of Sand Mountain, 
Alabama—to bring all the influence possible to bear upon 
position he wanted and then—jingle ling, and in walked 


60 


the official in whose gift it was. Finally he said that he 
would do all in his power for me. Here the interview 
ended. At its'close, the General was turned over to the 
tender mercies of those already announced and others 
innumerable to follow. As we passed out of the door, we 
encountered a half-dozen more bent on the same errand. 
For the first time in my natural life I felt sorry for 
members of Congress, and resolved that under no circum¬ 
stances would I allow my name to go before the convention. 
And it has not so far. 

When I had gotten within the confines of my room at 
the hotel, and looked the matter squarely in the face, I 
at once perceived that a crisis was upon me. I saw that 
the struggle would be a long one, and at once mapped out 
my plan of campaign. My stock of ready cash was like 
some business companies’ advertisements, to-wit, 
“Limited.” First then, I must retrench. In order to do 
this, I paid my bill and sought cheaper quarters. There 
is, or was at least, on Pennsylvania avenue, an ancient 
structure, called at that time, the Parker House. From 
an advertising plate on the front door, I learned that 
meals and lodging could be procured for one dollar per 
day. I entered and made terms. The room assigned me 
looked out on Four-and-a-Half street and the Avenue. It 
was about six by eight feet, being, in fact, only the recess 
covered by a dormer window, and appeared like a huge 
chicken-coop on the roof of the house. I chose it for two 
reasons: First, in case of fire, I could climb out on the top 
of a porch and so escape the devouring element. And 
secondly, in case I could not “raise the wind” to liqui¬ 
date my board bill, I could raise the window and dictate 
terms from a high standpoint. That these were weighty 
considerations all reasonable men must admit. 


61 


That the average Washington boarding house keeper 
is suspicious, goes without saying. Experience has taught 
her some pretty hard lessons in the way of feeding and 
lodging office-seekers. This interesting class of our popu¬ 
lation, as a general thing, repair to Washington when all 
other resources have failed at home, and consequently with 
not over plethoric pocket books. Office seekers consist 
mainly of broken down politicians, fellows, who have a 
“pull” at home, and poor relations of Senators and Con¬ 
gressmen. If there are any fat places to be given out, 
the latter class are first served. If there be any left, the 
fellow with the “pull” at home, comes next, while the 
crumbs which fall from the political table are thrown to 
the sorry political dog who has had his day. These are the 
“boys” who get away with the hash houses of Washington, 
and fill the precincts of officedom with curses both loud 
and deep, and who vex the righteous souls of Congress¬ 
men overmuch, threatening him with chimeras dire at 
home, when the next election comes around. Although 
they seize the crumbs, they want the earth. One case in 
point will suffice. Col. Geo. C. Cabell, who represented 
so long and so usefully the Fifth Virginia District, had on 
his list, perhaps, some of the hardest cases of office-seekers 
to be found in the Old Dominion, (and their name is 
legion). Among the rest was a certain M. T. Blank, of 

the county of--This man, although nothing could 

be said against his character or standing, was perhaps one 
of the most unpopular men in the county in which he had 
been bom and raised. To have saved his life, he could 
not have controlled votes enough to have had himself 
elected to the office of constable in his neighborhood. And 
yet, he wrote to Col. Cabell somewhat as follows: 



62 


“Hon. George C. Cabell: 

Sir: My services in your behalf in past time, and my influ¬ 
ence in future, warrant me in making application for a position 
in Washington. I do not want and will not accept a position 
not commensurate with my merit and dignity. In short, sir, I 
want a bureau or a place as chief of division, and if you do not 
procure this for me, you will hear from me on election day. 

I have the honor to be, 

Very truly yours, 

M. T. Blank.” 


It is useless to say that when the Colonel got this 
portentous document, he was wrathy, indeed. But as his 
sense of the ridiculous regained its ascendency, he fairly 
roared with laughter, and long after his first paroxysm 
was over, and he had lain down, he made the bed shake 
as he endeavored in vain to repress his merriment. 

But all Congressmen unite in saying that for pure and 
unadulterated “cussedness,” commend them to a female 
office-seeker. She never suffers them to relax their 
vigilance in her behalf for an hour. Ho matter what 
important bill may be before the House, even if it he an 
appropriation for a creek running right through the Con¬ 
gressman’s district, she shows him no quarter and the 
door-keeper is kept busy running in and out with her 
card. Woe be to the Congressman who pays no attention 
to this diminutive hit of paste-board. Col. C. had by 
some means incurred the wrath of one of these enter¬ 
taining species of the female creation. It seemed that she 
had been legislated out of some subordinate position by the 
running out of an appropriation, and she wanted the 
Colonel to legislate her into another. He told her it 
was out of his power to do so, that his allowance of 
patronage was exhausted. This made her furious, and 


63 


she launched a broad-side at the gallant Colonel as 
follows: “Col. Cabell, do you undertake to tell me that 
you have been a member of Congress for twelve years, 
and haven’t got influence enough to get a lady a position 
to put up garden seeds ? I don’t believe a word of it. 
I will inform my family sir, and if it he true, they will 
see to it that some one is sent in your stead to Washington, 
who has influence sufficient.” Is it any wonder that Con¬ 
gressmen lose those sweet and winning qualities that once 
made them the idols of their constituents. Shakespeare 
says: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Women 
never sought office and failed in his day, or the phraseology 
would have been even stronger. 

A few words as to Congressional influence, as there are 
many erroneous impressions as to what constitutes a Con¬ 
gressman’s power. The uninitiated are under the impres¬ 
sion that to he a fine debator or orator, convincing his 
fellow members on the floor, or bringing down the gods of 
the gallery, makes a member potential in Washington. Far 
from it. Many a man who never opens his mouth in the 
House, is far more influential than some who have a 
great reputation for oratory. A Congressman’s influence 
is relative, and not personal. If he happens to get on the 
right committee, he is strong; otherwise weak. For 
instance, to be on the Appropriations Committee of the 
House, which specifies the amounts to be appropriated 
for all the departments of the government, is to be power¬ 
ful, since it holds the purse-strings. Recognizing this 
important fact, the heads of departments seek to curry 
its favor in order to obtain liberal amounts. Thus it can 
be seen that the members of this committee have a strong 
“pull,” and to be urged for a position by a member of this 
committee is almost tantamount to an appointment. We 


64 


say “urged,” for a written indorsation without the per¬ 
sonal application of a member, is not worth the paper on 
which it is written. All such written applications are 
said to he placed “on file.” Placed on fire is the more 
correct rendering of this difficult text. The constant, 
persistent efforts of one influential member is of more 
importance to an office-seeker than the written endorse¬ 
ment of an entire delegation, as we shall show before this 
chapter is finished. 

But to return to the narrative. Having laid down our 
plan of campaign, and prepared for all possible contingen¬ 
cies, so far as we could foresee them, we at once began 
our advance upon the first line of the enemy’s entrench¬ 
ments. We found most of the out-posts, the messengers of 
the departments, who were mainly colored, half asleep at 
their posts, or scribbling some indefinable nonsense on 
paper pads, placed on wooden tables near the door. In 
reply to our inquiry, whether the secretary was in or not, 
the usual answer was, “Yes, hut he is engaged now.” 
There were generally two chairs near the door, and into 
onfe of these we would deposit our anatomy, and resolve 
to starve out the enemy, that is to say some other fellow 
ahead of us. While sitting, reinforcements kept con¬ 
tinually arriving, until a whole brigade of battle-scarred 
veterans, would he on hand, ready to rush in where angels 
would fear to tread. A whole regiment of women, gener¬ 
ally constituted a part of this brigade. At first, being 
from the South, and naturally deferential to the fair sex, 
we allowed the ladies to take our turn and go in first. 
But we soon found out that chivalry in Washington, like 
hanging in South Carolina, had played out, and that our 
best policy was to step in when our turn came, as we also 
noticed that a woman generally gave the secretary the 



65 


whole history of her family for three generations past, 
as a prelude to business. Ushered in, we generally found 
the great man preoccupied in writing, and not wishing 
to disturb his highness, we would spend a few minutes, 
taking in the scenery of the room. Finally, when his 
capacious intellect formulated a page or two of manu¬ 
script, Mr. Secretary would drop the weapon said to he 
mightier than the sword, and say, “Well, sir; what can 
I do for you V’ Our only reply was to draw upon him 
that appalling document, our application, signed by an 
entire delegation of Congressmen, two or three judges of 
the Supreme Court, half a dozen well-known politicians, 
and a personal letter from Gen. Wheeler. At first I 
would watch the serene countenance of the great man, and 
look every moment for some token of paralysis. He 
didn’t paralyze worth a cent. Glancing calmly at the 
document in question, he would fold it up, put a glass 
weight over it and remark in tones bland enough to melt 
the most obdurate heart. “You are well endorsed, your 
case shall have my most careful consideration.” “I will 
place your application on file, and whenever a vacancy 
occurs, I will see what I can do for you.” This sounded 
splendidly at first, and you would go away in a sort of 
ecstacy, to your humble retreat, expecting like Byon, to 
wake up some fine morning and find yourself famous, by 
an appointment. Nothing of the sort. When I remem¬ 
bered the brigade at the door, and that these identical 
words had been uttered to each individual member thereof, 
I saw my chances of greatness grow as attenuated as the 
baseless fabric of a vision. Something had to he done. 
My financial situation was becoming more shaky every 
day and had a “run” been made upon my hank, I would 
have been compelled to close its doors and suspend pay- 
5 


66 


ment at once. I resolved to curtail expenses, and bring 
them down a button-hole lower. 

Any traveller, who saunters along Pennsylvania avenue, 
will see ever and anon such notices as this on the window 
panes of eating houses, “A cup of coffee, bread and butter 
for 10c.” I had been paying twenty-five cents for the 
same heretofore in order to enjoy the honor of putting up 
at a hotel, or what passed for one. I concluded that a 
meal and a half was worth more to me than a name. My 
friend William Shakespeare was of the same way of 
thinking in regard to the odor of a rose, and why not I 
in regard to the odor of Washington butter; if not, why 
not ? By this retrenchment I carried another line of the 
enemy’s intrenchments and brought the siege one step 
nearer completion. I was of the opinion that I was 
practicing the very height (or depth rather) of economy 
in thus living so cheaply. But I was mistaken. A brother 
office-seeker informed me that he lived twelve days in 
Washington on sixty cents- 

Upon our inquiry as to the manner in which he did 
this, (being vitally interested in such important subjects) 
he said he had several friends in the city, who were in the 
habit of drinking two or three times a day, and they 
always invited him. The barkeepers all kept crackers and 
cheese, and some few gave ham-sandwiches to their cus¬ 
tomers. Whenever he took a drink with his friends, he 
generally helped himself as copiously as possible after¬ 
wards to the mint man’s menu, and by raising five cents 
every day, he procured a place to sleep at night. He 
informed me, however, that this diet of crackers and 
cheese had one draw-back. It gave him such a severe 
case of indigestion that it nearly killed him before he got 
over it. It gives us pleasure to add that such heroic com 



67 


duct in sustaining this dreadful siege, did not go unre¬ 
warded. Our friend now holds a fine position, and no 
one, who beholds him of an afternoon, dressed in fault¬ 
less style, and twirling his rattan along the avenue, would 
ever suspect the trials through which he had passed. 
Tempora mutant atque ab illos mutantur. 

Having perceived that an appointment in the classical 
service was an impossibility, without having stood a civil 
service examination, and knowing that about forty 
thousand men and women had already been “certified” to 
the different departments, we raised the siege of these, and 
turned our guns upon the capitol. The door-keeper of 
the House was Donelson, of Tennessee. He had nearly 
three hundred places, big and little, at his disposal, hut in 
vain did Gen. Wheeler importune him to give me one. He 
would promise to do so every day, hut perform never. 
In this respect, he was one of the most colossal liars I 
ever had the pleasure of meeting. But he meant no harm 
by it, and differed hut little, save in degree, from the other 
departmental and capitol prevaricators to he found in all 
the high places in Washington. 

What a pity it is that this government has sunk so low 
that no one can serve it, it seems, who is not an 
accomplished falsifier. How long could Donelson or an;v 
other man, hold the position of door-keeper of the House, 
who would flatly tell the very man who gave him his 
office, that he could do nothing for him. Echo answers 
“How long?” We have already remarked that it is no 
wonder that Congressmen fall from grace. Any one who 
will take the trouble of spending one day at the capitol 
in the early part of the season, and witness the mob of men 
and women there assembled, and pulling and hauling at 
Congressmen, will wonder ever afterwards why the Con- 


68 


gressmen desire re-election. That they should come home 
with a contempt for their species is not at all strange, but 
that they should want to go hack, can only be accounted 
for in one way. A fashionable woman will wear shoes 
that nearly throw her into spasms, and lace herself so 
tightly that she is on the point of fainting every step she 
takes. And man, that he may be notorious, will suffer 
himself to be tormented day and night with a horde of 
office-seekers as hungry as an Egyptian locust, as relent¬ 
less as the Goths and Vandals, of ancient times, and as 
sleepless as a guilty conscience itself. He will hear the 
most envenomed assaults of his political enemies, will 
work day and night to circumvent his rivals in his own 
party. And for what ? That he may get the pitiful 
stipend of five thousand dollars a year ? by no means. 
Many of them could make double as much at home, 
practicing law, or following some other honorable calling. 
What then? Simply that they may he called Honorable, 
that they may fill, for a brief space, a large place in the 
public eye, and then drop out of sight and never be heard 
of afterwards, until their obituaries are written, and a 
passing allusion made to the fact that they were once 
members of Congress. But there was Clay and Webster, 
Calhoun and Benton—a few great names that posterity 
will not willingly let die, and who knows but that the 
average Congressman aspires to the same lofty niche in 
the temple of national fame. 

But, revenos a nos moutons, or goat rather. The 
crowd that seeks a place at the capitol is just as much 
given to lying, and far more clamorous than that which 
cringes around the doors of the heads of departments. 
The departmental crank is somewhat awed hv his august 
surroundings. Hot so his brother or sister at the capitol. 


69 


Here no put up Utica confines His powers. Here he can 
sling his Congressman out with a bit of paste-board, at 
a dozen different doors. He has no need of watching one 
aperture, like a cat on the lookout at a rat-hole. Let no¬ 
bodies, who watch for secretaries and appointment clerks 
and other such, do that. He or she interviews the 
aggregated wisdom of the nation. 

How, it may be asked, how do these office-seekers treat 
one another? It might be supposed they would hang 
together, like a band of brothers, whom a common mis¬ 
fortune had knit together with hooks of steel. Nothing of 
the kind. With respect to each other, they are the most 
veritible cut-throats and assassins of character on earth. 
Confidence in each other is unknown. There are always 
hundreds after the same place; and to “throw each other 
down/’ as the phrase goes, seems to be their sole object. 
To do this, they lie, they slander, they misrepresent and 
stick at nothing short of assassination itself. There are, 
of course exceptions. We are speaking of the pro¬ 
fessionals; those who cannot or will not make a decent 
living at home, and who hang around Washington like a 
brood of vampires, ready at all times to suck the pap that 
percolates the veins of Uncle Sam. There are men hold¬ 
ing office, and men seeking office in Washington, who 
are as honorable as the day is long, and who would no 
more think of stabbing in the back, or taking a mean 
advantage than they would of stealing. But they are rare. 
A case in point. 

A son of Bev. J. J. Lafferty, of Virginia, an accom¬ 
plished stenographer, sought a position as such in the 
House of Bepresentatives. A competitive examination 
between himself and his competitors was held. Some 
governmental inquiry was being made in which the testi- 


70 


mony of a Swede, who spoke broken English, was to be 
taken down. „ Any one familiar with shorthand, knows 
that it is the most exhausting labor, when long continued, 
of any known to man. The others knew this, and agreed 
to relieve young Lalferty at the expiration of a reasonable 
time. Instead of doing so, they intentionally left him 
to do the whole work, fully expecting he would break 
down, and be thrown out of tlie race as a rival. But he 
hung on like grim death to a gridiron, did his work to 
the entire satisfaction of the committee, received the 
appointment and defeated the malice of his enemies. 

But to return to the capitol. In the basement of the 
building, among many other things, is the office of the 
Architect of the Capitol. This office, at the time, was 
held by John Clarke, who still held his politics as well as 
his office under Grover Cleveland. In his gift were many 
positions, some fat, but the majority lean. Like the rest 
of the Republican officials whom President Cleveland 
retained, Clarke gave the “fat” to his political friends, and 
the “lean” to the Democrats. This was both proper and 
logical from a Republican standpoint. If a Democratic 
President, so-called, could retain a Republican in a “fat” 
office, it was not to he expected that the Republican would 
treat Democrats any better than their President did. This 
was the rule in all the departments. Republicans held 
on to what they had, which were the best places; the 
Democrats took what they could get. As our main object 
at the capitol was to storm “Fort Donelson,” it was quite 
necessary to erect redoubts in order to mount our guns. 
I ascertained the fact that Clarke was very susceptible on 
the side of an appropriation, and determined to make 
my assault on the weakest part of his line. I had dis¬ 
covered sometime before that my friend, General Wheeler, 


71 


who was on a Military Committee, would have no weight 
with Clarke. But the General had a friend, Gen. William 
H. Forney, from the Birmingham District, who had been 
in Congress sixteen years, and was a member of the 
Appropriations Committee of the House. I obtained his 
consent to accompany General Wheeler to Clarke’s office 
in my behalf. He did so. General Forney in five min¬ 
utes, persuaded Clarke to give me a position. He said he 
could not give me one on the inside, but would give me one 
on the outside of the building. Being asked in regard to 
the salary, he replied: “One dollar and a half per day.” 
General Wheeler asked me if I would take this. I said, 
“Yes, until I could do better.” 

And thus was the first line of the enemy carried. My 
troops (of hopes) were flushed with victory at last. Fam¬ 
ine in perspective vanished, and the once regal splendor 
of a twenty-five cent breakfast again rose before my enrap¬ 
tured vision. Ho more ten-cent snacks of mouldy bread, 
rancid butter and diluted coffee for me. Perish the 
thought! 

Before proceeding further, let us take a retrospect. When 
we first arrived in Washington, we were embarrassed with 
riches in the shape of wearing apparel, of which the fol¬ 
lowing is an inventory: 


One overcoat worth.$ 20.00 

Three suits of clothes. 40.00 

One-half dozen shirts. 9.00 

A dozen linen collars. 1.80 

One trunk, containing valuable manuscripts. . 10,000.00 


Total 


$10,070.80 








72 


Like my Lord Wellington, when my commissary de¬ 
partment begap. to trouble me, I disposed of my quarter¬ 
master stores as follows: One overcoat, of value aforesaid 
of twenty dollars, pawned to a Jew on the Avenue, for two 
dollars and fifty cents. Three pairs of pants, costing fif¬ 
teen dollars, pawned to a Hebrew on L) street, for two 
dollars and twenty-five cents. Three shirts, payment of 
laundry bill of sixty cents—total, $5.35. 

Thus like an army on a forced march, we threw aside 
all superfluous baggage, and being no longer encumbered 
with impedimenta , as Caesar puts it, “we got there Eli/' 
and surprised the enemy. This want of a wardrobe never 
troubled us in the least, so far as the public was con¬ 
cerned, though it did cause us a little inconvenience on one 
occasion. General Wheeler gave a swell reception in 
March, to which he invited me. When the evening ap¬ 
pointed came, it was snowing at a furious rate, and bit¬ 
terly cold. My retreat in the dormer window, of which 
I have spoken, was fully a mile from the scene of festiv¬ 
ity, and as I could not avail myself of street-car facilities, 
owing to the fact that my account was already overdrawn 
at the bank, and I did not wish to embarrass my friend, 
the cashier, by drawing such a large check as ten cents 
under such circumstances, I footed it. Arriving upon the 
scene, the usher at the door politely requested me to walk 
up stairs and deposit my wraps. Although I hadn’t one 
to my name, I walked up all the same. Here I found any 
number of Generals and Colonels and celebrities, brush¬ 
ing and primping, and making ready to descend to the 
bevy of beauty in the bower below. Having smoothed our 
locks, adjusted our somewhat stunning collar, and tightly 
buttoned our Prince Albert (the last sad relic of former 
splendor) I descended in company with a general of the 


73 


Federal Army as my chaperon. Here the scene that 
greeted) me was dazzling. There was Miss W., of Ala¬ 
bama, blazing with diamonds. Here was Miss S., of 
Washington, resplendent in a five thousand dollar dress, 
just from the masterful hands of Worth. Here was Gen. 
W. T. Sherman in full uniform. There stood Senator 
John W. Daniel, his clear-cut, classical face radiant with 
satisfaction, and hosts of others equally as distinguished. 
1 was introduced to nearly everybody, but my army friend 
seemed to have taken a fancy to me, and never deserted me 
during the entire evening. In an adjoining room our 
genial host had spread a rich repast, consisting of canvas- 
back duck, terrapin, oysters on the half-shell, and cham 
pagne. Around this board was indeed a feast of reason 
and a flow of soul. Here my army friend grew eloquent 
over the reconciliation of the sections lately at enmity, 
and I was not slow in responding to such friendly senti¬ 
ments. And thus passed away one of the most delightful 
evenings I ever spent in the capital of the nation. 

When I had gotten back to my dormer, undressed and 
drawn the drapery of my straw tick around me, I burst 
into such a fit of uncontrollable laughter, as came near 
splitting my sides. Reader, I need not tell you why. You 
will laugh, too, without any explanation. 

At the close of the interview with Clarke, in which I re¬ 
ceived an appointment, I was requested to call around 
Monday and my position would be assigned. Calling at 
the hour appointed, Clarke was out. He had, however, 
left word for me to report to a certain Mr. Williams. I 
found, to my surprise, this man a Christian and a gentle¬ 
man. He was a local Methodist preacher, having a family 
living near Falls Church, in Virginia. He became my 
friend at once, and said he would make me as comforta- 


74 


ble as possible. He then informed me of the nature of my 
work. I was to be one of four or five hundred to keep the 
capitol park in order. The work was light but tedious. I 
was told where to report the following morning, at seven 
o’clock. I did so. I was ushered into an inclosure on 
the south side of the park, where I found my friend Wil¬ 
liams calling the roll. On taking my bearings, I per¬ 
ceived that I was in the midst of about one hundred as 
tough specimens of the Caucasian race, and twice as many 
more of the African as you would find in a day’s search in 
Washington. The inclosure contained a few tumbled 
down sheds in which were inclosed the tools of the work¬ 
men. The workmen were divided off into squads of about 
one dozen each. Some were to sweep the pavements lead¬ 
ing through the park, others were to look after the shrub¬ 
bery, and others to attend to the grass. As I was very 
“green” in regard to this method of business, I was per¬ 
haps for this reason assigned to it in order that I might 
add one more to my long line of accomplishments. I can¬ 
not recall all my companions in the grass-squad, but there 
is one whom I can never forget. He was a diminutive, 
pug-nosed, one-eyed Irishman, who rejoiced in the posses¬ 
sion of the name of Peter Patrick Pinnigan. Peter was 
as witty as the day is long, a colossal liar, and one of the 
best natured fellows in the world. As soon as we were 
out of the inclosure, Peter gave me to understand that he 
was “boss” of the squad, and that by acting in obedience 
to his orders, I might hope for speedy promotion. Before 
the first day was half spent, I found out that Peter was 
a fraud. He was only common clay like myself, and all 
his airs of dictatorship were self-assumed and not con¬ 
ferred. Having settled this fact, Peter became my confi¬ 
dential friend, and at once proceeded to give me an out- 


75 


line of his career, which was as follows: In the palmy days 
of reconstruction, he held an important position in the 
revenue office at Petersburg, Ya. Here he said he wielded 
Republican conventions and mass-meetings, and moulded 
public sentiment according to his own sweet will. Inter¬ 
rogated at this point as to his downfall, he replied, “I 
fought Billy Mahone, and incurred his wrath. ” 

Peter’s lies, like those of every other Irishman, were 
related in such a refreshing fashion that one could enjoy 
them far more than he could the truth from any one else. 
It is doubtful if General Mahone was aware of Peter’s 
existence, much less his enmity. But so it was. Day 
after day, Peter would never tire of talking of how he 
squelched Mahone in Isle of Wight and Southampton 
counties, Virginia, and would always wind up by saying, 
“Egad, and that’s why I am here to-day.” He and I kept 
together as much as possible. Neither one of us wanted 
to work, as we had already discovered that those who work 
in Washington get the-least pay; that influence, not merit,, 
is what helps a fellow along in the modern Sodom. Dur¬ 
ing the course of the day we would perhaps “eradicate” 
grass and weeds enough to show that we had not been en¬ 
tirely idle. The superintendent of the park was another 
Irishman by the name of Crogan. Of him, Peter seemed 
to be at all times in mortal terror. Whenever he ap¬ 
peared in sight, Peter would give a low whistle to warn 
me of impending danger, and work like a beaver'until he 
was out of sight. Each of us spent fully half of our time 
away; Peter down-town, and myself at the capitol, bom¬ 
barding “Donelson.” The thing grew monotonous. I 
determined once more to raise the siege and attack the 
enemy in another quarter. Peter urged me to stay with 
him, but I told him “No.” In full view of the capitol, 


76 


a half a mile northwest therefrom, may be seen a large 
white brick building, that in fair weather fairly glit¬ 
ters in the sunlight. This is the Government Printing 
Office. Visitors to Washington are just crazy to do the 
Smithsonian, the Corcoran Art Gallery and the Capitol, 
but miss the greatest curiosity to be found at the Capitol. 
This building and its inmates is a world in itself. Here 
may be found every species of printing press, from the 
old-fashioned hand-press of our forefathers, to the vast, 
complicated, modern machine, costing thirty thousand 
dollars. In one room may be seen hundreds of women 
plying folding machines, and sewing together the leaves 
that fall from the trees of knowledge at the Capitol. In 
another may be seen hundreds employed in binding, whilst 
in the Document Room is a perfect army of printers, each 
one with paper cap peaking over his eyes, and silently 
plying his trade. In other rooms for the purpose, are 
stored vast piles of books, whilst on the floors and in un¬ 
expected recesses, are carloads of printed speeches, pur¬ 
porting to have thrilled Senates as they fell from the elo¬ 
quent lips of the Honorable Blanks. But alas! All that 
the Congressional Record says in regard to them is a note 
to the following effect: That the Honorable Blank, having 
submitted a resolution, and desiring to speak thereon, ob¬ 
tained “leave” to print. Once in the Government Print¬ 
ing Office they swell like Jonah’s Gourd, and are sent 
out by the members from “Way Back,” from the Andros¬ 
coggin to the Far West, where California’s Golden Gate 
fronts to the falling sun. They are called “wooden 
speeches” at the Government Printing Office, doubtless be¬ 
cause in a majority of cases they emanate from wooden 
heads, known in common parlance as block-heads. 

Such is the Government Printing Office. Ever since 
the civil service humbug went into effect this office has 


77 


become the resource of place-hunting Congressmen, as the 
civil service does not apply to it. Go there when you will, 
from 9 A. M. to 5 P. M., and you will find the ante-room 
filled with a delegation, waiting until another comes out. 
They pour in and out in this way the live-long day, and 
if the Public Printer has any other business except re¬ 
ceiving Congressmen it must come after office hours, for it 
is manifest that he has no time to do so during the day. 

S. P. Pounds, of Illinois, a great friend of Hon. John 
A. Logan, was Public Printer at this time. His position 
was somewhat anomalous. Appointed by a Republican 
President, he was retained in office by a Democratic one. 
This office was chock full of Republicans, holding the best 
places, and who had been appointed at the instance of 
Republican Senators and members. Rut presto, change. 
How the pressure is from Democratic Senators and mem¬ 
bers. To dismiss the Republican appointees would bring 
down on Mr. R.’s head the wrath and vengeance of his 
political associates. To deny the Democrats would im¬ 
peril his own chances of being retained. Mr. R. resolved 
upon a bold stroke. He called for a larger appropriation, 
which he got, and literally glutted the office with more ap¬ 
pointments. Each room was so full of men and women 
that they could hardly move about. 

Such was the posture of affairs when we turned our 
longing eyes upon this department. Notwithstanding it 
was so crowded, I was persuaded there was room for one 
more, and I determined, if possible, to be that one. 

Having come to this conclusion, one fine morning in 
May, I hung my rake upon a rose-bush in the Capitol Park 
(where, for aught we know, it may be hanging yet), and 
repaired to the residence of General Wheeler. I ac¬ 
quainted him with the fact that while the music of birds, 
the plash of fountains, the odor of flowers, and the view 


78 


of neatly trimmed shrubbery was pleasing to the senses, 
yet, having been raised upon a farm, I had gotten a sur¬ 
feit of these things, as well as the scent of new-mown hay, 
and in consequence intended resigning my position at the 
Capitol and striking for higher wages. The General, who 
is one of the best men imaginable, said he did not blame 
me, and that he would do all he could for me at the print¬ 
ing office. That very morning we made a descent upon 
Mr. Rounds. Our first assault upon the picket line was 
unsuccessful, as the saddle-tinted, freckled face custodian 
of the door leading into the lion’s den, informed us that 
his majesty “was engaged.” As it was near the “morn¬ 
ing hour,” as they say at the House, I suffered General 
Wheeler to depart, with the promise of another assault 
next morning. 

Promptly at the hour named, the assault was made, and 
we entered the first line of the enemy’s intrenchments. 
We found Mr. Rounds to he a thick-set, heavy, dark- 
skinned man, decidedly tending to embonpoint. He had 
a good-natured face, notwithstanding that Peter Finnigan 
had represented him to he “as ugly as the ‘divil’ himself.” 
The interview was pleasant, hut amounted to nothing. 
He simply told the General that he would make some 
changes soon, and when he did he would consider his 
friend’s case. That was all. And so it went on for nearly 
a month. General Wheeler would call; a note would be 
sent out to him from Mr. Rounds, the note would he hand¬ 
ed to me, I would read it, and that ended the farce for that 
day. But perseverence conquers all things except an office- 
seeker’s thirst for place and a politician’s desire for re- 
election. I was at length assigned to a position as laborer 
in the Specifications Room. But oh, horrors! Who can 
picture, or measure rather, the vast expanse that inter¬ 
venes between expectation and realization. When I re- 


79 


ceived my appointment I was in ecstacies. I was taken 
in out of the wet, and with the enormous per diem of two 
dollars a day even a twenty-cent breakfast seemed con¬ 
temptible, and my little dormitory shrunk to the dimen¬ 
sions of a rat-hole. With joy I hied me to the office, 
scarcely deigning to bestow a passing glance at that old, 
weather-beaten bust of Benjamin Franklin that adorned 
the eastern door of the office. Franklin! fiddle-sticks! he 
never earned two dollars a day in his life in a printing 
office. 

I was told to report to Mr. W. A. Miller, foreman of 
the Specifications Room, who would show me what I had 
to do. Ascending three flights of steps, I found myself in 
his presence. Heavens, what an object! His face had the 
most villainous and sinister aspect I had ever seen. It was 
coarse and brutal, dark and lowering. His hair was 
slightly gray, his heard of the same color, and stubby. 
His lips were sensual and devilish to the most satanic de¬ 
gree. His manners were in keeping with his countenance. 
And yet, strange to relate, there were green spots in the 
arid waste of the man’s nature, like an oasis in the desert; 
however, few and far between. If he had a friend in the 
office no one knew it but himself, for he was so universally 
despised and hated that anyone owning to a fondness for 
Miller laid himself open to suspicion at once. Ho malice 
rankles in our breasts towards him as we relate this. We 
pity him from the bottom of our hearts. He did not pos¬ 
sess meanness, it possessed him, body and soul, or in the 
language of Holy Writ, he was led captive by the devil 
at his will, and to he acquainted with Miller gave one the 
poorest possible opinion of “Old Hick.” 

The task assigned us was this: The Specifications 
Room (leaving out the proof room) is devoted exclusively 
to mechanical work. “Forms” have to he conveyed from 


80 


the stones to the press, there verified and placed in the 
rack. Those known as “solids” weighed anywhere from 
180 to 200 pounds. One-half of this incessant and heavy 
lifting fell to my share. The other half fell to the share 
of Fred Loftus, a young jackanapes and rattle-brained 
nonentity, whom Congressman Finnerty had discovered 
in Chicago, or some other delectable village out West, and 
transplanted to the virgin soil of the district, where, it 
is needless to say, he flourished like a green bay tree. The 
other was William Kelly, a ponderous son of Erin, red¬ 
faced, blue-eyed, dull and clumsy. Nothing in the world 
delighted Kelly more than talking of “Misther” Gladstone 
and “Ould Ireland.” He was also a most devoted Catho¬ 
lic, and nothing made him so furious as to call into ques¬ 
tion the right of Home Rule, or Catholicism, which Loftus, 
out of pure “cussedness,” often did. The result of this 
was a perpetual warfare of words between them, which at 
times came near resulting in blows. Both of these men 
were old stagers and had “learned the ropes,” and in con¬ 
sequence threw upon me more than my share of the work. 
But I was not long in learning how the land lay, and put 
a stop to it. There was still another laborer in the gang, 
hut as he was a negro, he was Miller’s pet, and in conse¬ 
quence assigned to a soft “snap”—that of carrying copy 
from the printing office to the patent office and vice versa. 
Such Tvere my environments. I had not been in the office 
twenty-four hours before I had knocked the skin from 
my knuckles, bruised my shanks, and become thoroughly 
disgusted. I resolved to “kick” and “kick” hard. I was 
strengthened in this resolution by a suspicion which had 
entered my mind, namely, that to he content with such 
a job implied lack of ambition as well as capacity. And 
secondly, no self-respecting white man with my educa¬ 
tional and social advantages could stand such company as 


81 


I was thrown into. Thirdly, if my friends could do 
nothing better for me I would resign and go home. 
Fourthly, I was possessed with the idea, somehow, that this 
particular job was set aside by the Public Printer as a 
sort of insane asylum, where persons could be speedily 
cured of the lunacy of office-seeking. And that it has this 
effect, whether so intended or not, there can he no question. 
I was informed that numbers of patients, laboring under 
all sorts of official hallucinations, who had been consigned 
to Dr. Miller’s care, had left Washington, not only cured, 
but rejoicing, and that not one was ever known to return. 
Tn fact, one young fellow from Hon. John S. Barbour’s 
district was cured in a single day, and did not even call 
round on pay-day. This was the most complete cure ever 
recorded hv the office, for of all the thousands who have 
served there, he was the only one who has never called for 
his pay. He was doubtless afraid they would endeavor to 
induce him to stay by the offer of higher wages. 

We have just said we intended to “kick.” But we in¬ 
tended to kick where it would do the most good. We 
dropped a note to the Public Printer, informing him of the 
fact that the work assigned us was too severe, and that he 
would please transfer us to another room where the labor 
was not so heavy. To this he replied that it was only by 
urgent solicitation that he gave us the job we had, and if 
we were not content there were hundreds who would he 
glad enough to get it, etc. Mr. Rounds was declared en¬ 
titled to a knock-down in the first round. I resolved upon 
another mode of attack. I knew General Wheeler had 
done all he could, and I would bring in another horse, 
known on the political turf of Virginia as the Royal 
George, who had never “broken,” flown the track, or lost 
a race since he came before the public, twenty years ago. 

I refer to Hon. George C. Cabell, of Danville, Virginia, 

6 


82 


than whom a better representative never went to Congress. 
The Colonel had been in Congress for more than a decade, 
was a prominent member of the Committee on Appropria¬ 
tions, and was a man of positive force in Washington. 
Accordingly, we laid our case before him, and told him, 
perhaps, what fie already knew, that although appointed 
from Alabama and credited to General Wheeler, owing to 
a temporary residence in his district, yet I was a bona fide 
citizen of the Fifth District of Virginia, and as such, his 
constituent. He said he would see Hounds and see what 
he could do for me, that he knew the place I held did not 
suit me. This point gained, I resolved to “tough it out” 
with Miller until this new move resulted in success or 
failure. I knew from sad experience that light artillery 
had no more effect on the Public Printer than boiled peas 
on the hide of a rhinoceros. My bird-shot did not even 
stick. But when my heavy columbiad, in the shape of 
a call from Colonel Cabell, poured in a broadside upon 
him, he moved at once. He sent upstairs for me to come 
down. I went. The interview was short, but to the point. 
I would be appointed in a few days to a better position, 
namely, to the proof room. 

Mr. H. left in a few days for Fortress Monroe, but left 
word that he would attend to my case on his return. He 
did so. The following is a copy of my appointment: 

Office of Public Printer, 
Washington, D. C., July 7, 1886. 

Samuel Slick, Jr.: 

Sir,—You are hereby transferred to a position as a copy-holder 
in the specifications room of this office and may report to W. A. 
Miller, foreman in charge, Monday, July 19, 1886. 

Very respectfully, 

S. P. Rounds, 
Public Printer. 




CHAPTER VI. 


In Which Fallen Greatness is Considered , With Some 
Observations Thereon. 

As some traveller, ascending to the mountain’s summit, 
stops ever and anon to rest himself and gaze on scenes 
below, and as he perceives from his elevated and changed 
point of view, objects of interest amid the scenes in which 
he lately mingled, so did I now revisit the sphere in which 
by force of circumstances I lately lived and moved and 
had my being. 

Reader, perhaps in the course of your natural life 
you may have heard the word “cheek” used in a figurative 
sense. But you will never know the full force of that 
word until you have gone to the Capital of these United 
States. In going back over my own career for the past 
four months I am astonished at my own advancement in 
that difficult science, for whereas I was as backward as 
a boy was fifty years ago, I now had as much of it as the 
average youth of to-day, which is saying much. 

And now as I am soon to recede from my late com¬ 
panions in exile from office and official pap, let us take a 
calm survey of a crowd which, at the time of which* we 
write, was wont to assemble every evening in the lobby of 
the Metropolitan Hotel. Here could be seen at a glance 
broken down orators, whose fame once filled the land; 
effete politicians, whose power was once known and hon¬ 
ored in the councils of their party, at the crack of whose 
whip the political teams went spinning, at whose nod can¬ 
didates were nominated, and at whose frown they fell. 


84 


Mingling in the crowd might be seen former ministers of 
the gospel, once illustrious for pulpit eloquence and every¬ 
day piety. College presidents, eminent for learning, be¬ 
come the veriest dead-heats on earth, bar-room hummers 
and free lunch fiends. 

A pen picture of a few of the most illustrious may not 
come amiss. Some may recover their lost estate, hence 
we will omit real names and give only initials, or such 
titles as their peculiarities suggested. First then there 
could be seen Colonel -, who, from a certain re¬ 

semblance to the fowl in question, we will call “Crow.” 
“Crow” was at one time a prominent figure in Republican 
circles in the Old Dominion, but having gotten into some 
trouble therein, he shook the dust of his native heath from 
his feet and came to Washington. Here, by dint of an ex¬ 
tensive acquaintance with public men, coupled with great 
natural abilities, he contrived to drink the best whiskey 
to be had at “Drivers” or the Metropolitan; to clothe him¬ 
self well, and especially to wear the whitest and most 
stunning collars of the stand-up style to be seen on the 
Avenue of this city of magnificent dudes as well as dis¬ 
tances. He was lame of one leg, which caused him to wab¬ 
ble a little as he walked. He was always clad in spotless 
black. His lameness gave him the gait, and his clothes 
the color, of the crow. Hence his soubriquet. He was a 
man, of fine conversational powers, sarcastic generally, 
which lent a decidedly sharp flavor to his verbal dishes. 
He had no confidence in any one, and everybody returned 
the compliment with compound interest. Although an in¬ 
cessant drinker, he was seldom drunk, which proved his 
staying powers were great. Many a time, as I passed 
along the Avenue in front of “Drivers” I could hear his 
metallic yet merry laugh, as he poked fun at some just 



85 


absent politician, whom but a moment before he bad 
pledged in a glass of Veuve-Clicquot at the politician’s 
expense. He usually carried a bundle of magazines, or 
newspapers under his arm, which gave him a literary as¬ 
pect. He could nearly always be seen of an evening at the 
Metropolitan and nearly always had a Senator or Mem¬ 
ber in tow. Such was “Crow,” the most complete demon¬ 
stration of the possibilities of “cheek” since the days of 
“Beau Hickman.” 

Here comes Colonel S., clearing his throat as he strolls 
leisurely into the reading room, and lays hold of a pen. 
What an eventful history his has been within the recent 
years. A few short years agone and he was a Democratic 
leader in Southside Virginia, next a prominent Republi¬ 
can—prominent enough to be nominated by his party for 
Congress—now socially ostracised, a resident of Wash¬ 
ington, broken in fortune and resources. Brought 
into close contact with those whom he once spurned, he 
never forgot his dignity and would fight at the dropping 
of a hat. Accused of all sorts of questionable transactions 
behind his back, no one had the hardihood to insult him 
to his face. Surrounded with the most implacable ene¬ 
mies, he pursued the even tenor of his way as unconcerned 
as if he had not a foe in the world. Such is Colonel S. 

What tall commanding person is that with a gray mus¬ 
tache and long iron-gray hair falling upon his ample 
shoulders ? The one I mean standing at the bar there 
and singing snatches of a gay song to his comrades ? Ah, 
that is Colonel C., of Louisiana lately, of Virginia for¬ 
merly. His history would read like a romance, nay, sur¬ 
pass fiction itself. Sent to college at an early age, he there 
stood head and shoulders above all his classmates in all 
of the purely intellectual studies, whilst as a debater 


86 


none could overtop him. Entering the Methodist minis¬ 
try, he soon became one of the most eminent orators in a 
denomination which has furnished the modern world with 
three of its greatest, Whitfield, Bascom, and Munsey. 
Great as were his intellectual gifts, he was deeply pious 
also, and his name a synonym for all that was good. Ad¬ 
miring parents named their children for him, assemblies 
coveted his presence, where, like Saul among his brethren, 
he towered above them all. The war came. Tie threw 
the whole energy of his nature into the Southern cause. 
The South failed, as the world knows, and Colonel C. 
failed with it. He became dissipated, went into politics 
in Louisiana as a Republican, and was elected Speaker of 
a Republican Legislature. Was involved in the fierce 
factional fights of Warmoth, Pinchback, and Casey; be¬ 
came a duelist and “winged” his man; left Louisiana and 
took up his residence in Washington, and drifted into that 
vast army of failures, whom it would seem some inexora¬ 
ble law compels to gravitate towards this political Mecca. 
But alas! Like others, he found there was no balm for 
political failures in the modern Gilead, and then, like one 
who has staked his all and lost, he seems to have no other 
aim in life than to obtain “surcease from sorrow.” Hence 
the maddening bowl, the gay song from lips whose utter¬ 
ance once thrilled the vast assembly or held it riveted 
within the grasp of his merciless logic. 

Although a constant caller, he never remains long at 
the Metropolitan, or any other place. He has an unquiet 
air about him, as if the Lloly Ghost with its spirit fingers, 
felt but unseen, still rattles the skeletons of memory in his 
heart. Many are praying in Virginia for this man. May 
he yet arise from the low surroundings in which his great 
heart has beaten wearily for so many years, for despite 


87 


all his assumed hilarity, one can see, who is accustomed to 
the study of human faces, that he is not in harmony with 
his besotted environments. There is a far away look in 
his eye which bespeaks the inquietude of a soaring spirit. 

There comes another remarkable looking man who, in 
spite of his too prominent nose, bears a striking resem¬ 
blance to a certain Virginia Congressman. Ah! That is 
the “Judge.” Well, what about him ? He, too, hails from 
the Old Dominion, where he won his title, and was a can¬ 
didate for Congress so long that he came near getting the 
nomination by sheer force of seniority as a candidate. Is 
he a great man \ A very natural question for one who 
knows him not. Like the ambitious female, who possessed 
all the contortions of the Sybil without its inspiration, the 
“Judge” assumes what he conceives to be the air of greai- 
ness to hide his want of it. He is the dude of the crowd, 
dressing in faultless style, and by virtue of an office which 
pays him nearly two thousand a year, looks down with 
haughty contempt from his eyrie upon “Crow” and others, 
whom he only recognizes in a sort of patronizing way. 
Poor fellow! Did he know the opinion entertained of 
himself by those around him, he would dismiss that super¬ 
cilious air of his and realize that he was merely “a dude, 
mashed on himself and having no rivals,” as John Han¬ 
non would say. 

Again. Who is that standing there just outside of the 
storm door, dressed in a brand new suit of store clothes 
of a Jewish sort, with an oiled mustache, a great shock of 
black curls poking out from under the brim of his new 
plug hat, with an immense knotted cane in his hand, and 
looking for all the world like the “Jack of Spades” or a 
reformed gambler. He, too, is a dude, and his friends 
call him by that endearing appellation. “Dude” is a 


88 


living, moving, breathing monument to the office-getting 
powers of the Hon. George D. Wise, from whose district 
he hails. When “Dude” struck the capital the gallant 
Wise, like Hoah’s dove, had no rest for the soles of his 
feet. He ransacked every department and every bureau 
in the great city for “Dude.” He took him to the great 
emporium of garden seeds. Ho go. He rambled through 
the spacious corridors of the Interior, the Uavy, the War 
and Treasury Departments. Still the same result. As a 
forlorn hope, he tried the Coast and Geodetic Survey 
offices. Here he struck oil for “Dude,” for he procured him 
a position which paid him one dollar and a half per day. 
“Dude” took it, attended to his business, was promoted to a 
better place, and now comes regularly to the natural 
habitat, the Metropolitan, to display his clothes, smoke 
his cigars, and bully-rag the grand old party. But he was 
a good fellow. If ever a man worshipped his benefactor 
“Dude” worshipped his. He was a Wise man, and no mis¬ 
take. Unlike the base ingrate who worries his Congress¬ 
man to death before he gets an office, and damns him with 
faint praise afterwards, he never tired; and were we to 
base our estimate of Captain Wise’s character from 
“Dude’s” statements we would pronounce him an angel. 
“Dude” was a “regular.” He could be seen every evening, 
sooner or later, at headquarters, with his five-cent cigar, 
his stick and his pomatum. 

One more illustrious example. There came in a gentle¬ 
man just now, about forty-eight years old, with light hair, 
blue eyes, a florid face and a fat nose, wearing a grey suit 
that has seen considerable service, who walked rapidly up 
the long corridor as far as the hotel register, which he in¬ 
spected keenly, and then turned upon his heel and walked 
as rapidly away. There was a painful expression upon 






89 


his face, with a spice of contempt lurking in the corners 
of his mouth, as though he felt the world owed him some¬ 
thing and refused to pay it. He, too, is a man with a his¬ 
tory behind him. Here is a part of it: At one time a 
prominent Southern business man, he became ambitious 
and went into journalism with a grand flourish of trum¬ 
pets, advocating the “Third party, which was to knock 
both the others into a cocked hat.” Result: “Busted all 
to smash, fifteen thousand dollars in debt, and soured 
against the whole human race; and yet, strange to say, 
generous as ever, cursing his fate, but struggling against 
it, staving off mortgages on his press, type and fixtures, at 
w T ar with his foreman for wages past due, patching up 
truces with that indomitable functionary, who has but 
one eye, and that one always to business, he still contrives 
semi-occasionally to get out an issue, of which it might be 
said, ’tis distance lends enchantment to the “view.” A 
brave soul—a sort of half and half between a Don Pas- 
quale and a Wilkins Micawber, seasoned with a slight 
relish of a Mulberry Sellars, with this exception, that 
whereas the other Micawber was always expecting some¬ 
thing to turn up, this one is in constant dread lest some¬ 
thing turn down. 

He is tolerant to a startling degree, for in his office may 
be found the pale-faced student, poring over his maiden 
efforts on Political Economy, the daring free thinker, the 
voluble Knight of Labor, the Greenback theorizer, the 
Woman’s Rights advocate, all of whom can get a send off 
in his paper merely for the asking. Swindled by pre¬ 
tended friends, pursued by relentless creditors, he yet 
manages to maintain his position as a national character. 
Without a dollar of his own, he yet points the way to 
national wealth. Such is Colonel L. C., whose history 


90 


and characteristics would furnish the ground work of a 
novel more exciting than St. Elmo or “The Old Curiosity 
Shop.” But a truce to fallen greatness. We have only 
glanced at a few of that indescribable throng, who made 
evening hideous at the Metropolitan, who vexed the right¬ 
eous soul of the night clerk overmuch. As to the local 
celebrities who frequent that busy centre, we turn them 
over to the tender mercies of the hotel “bouncer,” who at 
12 o’clock emptied this surfeit of greatness into the street 
and shut the door. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Which Treats of Boarding Houses and Spirits and Wine, 
and Winds up With an Old Friend . 

We have expressed the opinion heretofore that the 
average boarding house keeper is suspicions, and gave 
reasons why he, she or it should be so. While on the sub¬ 
ject we might as well remark that all boarding houses may 
be classified as follows: First, those who follow that 
business through choice. These are few and far between, 
and fortunate the boarder who finds one, as the fare is 
invariably good and the beds clean. Such houses are 
backed up with capital, and can dictate such terms to 
applicants as to preclude the possibility of swindling in 
nearly every case. The other class is the product of neces¬ 
sity, and comprises nine-tenths of all the boarding houses 
in Washington. In these may be found that vast army of 
swindlers and sharpers, whose sole object in life seems to 
be to prey upon mankind, and who appear to fear but one 
person in the universe, to-wit, their landlady. One glance 
from her at the breakfast table when his board bill is due 
seems to paralyze the toughest citizen to be found at her 
board. Having no capital beyond that paid in by her 
guests, and out of which a whole family, often including 
two or three worthless sons and a sot of a husband, are to 
be supported, it is no wonder that the keeper of a boarding 
house through necessity is generally hollow-eyed and sus¬ 
picious. Too poor to turn any away, she is compelled to 
economize on such as pay in order to make up for those 
who steal. But not every one who shakes the dust of 


92 


Washington from his feet and leaves an unpaid bill be¬ 
hind is a swindler. Some of these men are lured to Wash¬ 
ington by the promise of office. They carry a sum of 
money with them sufficient, they presume, to pay expenses. 
Their money is soon gone and they find themselves in a 
great city without a solitary friend in the world. In such 
harrowing circumstances, some make a full confession 
and throw themselves upon the mercy of the court, but the 
great majority make a bee line for home and carry on 
negotiations from a distance. One enterprising young fel¬ 
low whom we encountered in Washington took a more 
original course than either of these. His landlady was a 
widow, he made love to her and married her, and thus, by 
tying the nuptial, cut the Gordian knot, ridding himself 
of a board bill, and insuring himself of a support for the 
time to come. This was a stroke of genius only to be ac¬ 
complished by Napoleons of finance, who are to be found 
in third-rate boarding houses as well as Wall street. But 
the chief source of loss to the boarding house keeper is by 
means of the professional dead-beats, of which the Capitol 
is full. These conscienceless scamps, who hail from all 
sections of the country, and who name Senator or Judge 
So-and-So for a reference, are really citizens of the Dis¬ 
trict of Columbia. Of course, when the landlady obtains 
an interview with the aforesaid Senator, or Judge, in 
reference to her guest he finds it out and seeks quarters 
elsewhere, where he uses the same racket. There is not 
one redeeming trait about these scoundrels. They are not 
seeking employment, would not have it if they could get it, 
in short, are not worth the hemp it would take to hang 
them. 

But we must come back to our little dormitory, be¬ 
tween which and ourselves a lasting attachment had 


93 


sprung up. Whenever we passed down the Avenue we al¬ 
ways bestowed a fond glance upon it, and its one little win¬ 
dow, with its four panes, six by eight, seemed to shine 
brighter by our recognition. In our darkest hour it gave 
us all the light we had, and in our hottest, all the breeze. 
Here, “far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,” 
upon our couch of straw, we had lain and pondered over 
the past, and set our plans for the morrow, and oh! 
ecstatic thought, should we ever become President (and 
why should we not) it will be pointed out with pride by 
the Capital guides in generations to come as having been 
the habitation of one of the nation’s greatest sons, unless, 
perchance, some vandal should buy it for a dime museum 
to he exhibited at ten cents a head. 

We have said most hoarding house keepers are sus¬ 
picious. Hot so ours. From the first meal to the last, we 
never encountered Mrs. Parker. That was not her name, 
hut it will do. We ate in silence with silent people; the 
servants wore slippers, and never rattled the plates; con¬ 
versation, if carried on at all, was in monosyllables. The 
women looked haggard, the men unearthly. 

“Every well-ordered and old established house has cer¬ 
tain uses, traditions, manners and customs of its own.” 
It is only the Hew Rich who are exactly like each other 
and have machine-made manners. Why not, if they copy 
good ones. The leading tradition of Mrs. Parker’s family 
must have been silence. There was never any tramping 
heard in it, any clanging of gongs, ringing of bells, knock¬ 
ing at doors, striking of clocks, or chatter of servants. 
What could all this mean? We resolved to find out. We 
made hold to inquire of one of the servants as to the cause 
of all this phenomenal silence. The information came 
with startling effect from the lips of this inspired domestic. 


9 4 


The phenomenal silence of the house was rendered neces¬ 
sary by the presence of “spirits.” We saw through it 
at a glance. We were in a nest of spiritualists. We re¬ 
solved to abdicate at once. Our belief in the supernatural 
was first-class until we struck Washington in search of a 
government office. This had obliterated every trace of 
supernaturalism within us, without us and around us. 
“Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost” 
The office-seeker’s slogan had done this dastardly deed. 
We desired no “second function.” The first was sufficient. 
Having liquidated our lodging bill, which amounted to the 
enormous sum of twenty-five cents, we set out in search 
of another dormitory. As we were passing down the street 
whom should be encounter but our old friend of bygone 
days, Henry Brittle. Questioned as to where he came 
from and where stopping, he replied, “From Baltimore 
and at the National.” We soon ascertained that Henry 
was out of business, having lost a fine job which paid him 
two thousand dollars a year, owing to dissipation, but in 
order to keep up appearances he had taken a room at the 
National Hotel, and was paying two and one-half dollars 
per day. I soon convinced him that he must abandon 
the National and seek cheaper quarters. He agreed to this, 
provided I would go in with him and rent a nice room 
together. I accepted this proposition, as he assured me 
that he could raise three hundred dollars, if necessary, in 
twenty-four hours. Accordingly we set out in search of 
a new domicile, which we finally secured from Mrs. P. on 
Four-and-a-Half street. The room was large, airy and 
well furnished, the bedding clean and the furniture new. 
The price was fifteen dollars per month, each one agree¬ 
ing to pay half. We moved in at once. About midnight 
I felt something crawl across the back of my neck. Soon 




95 


I felt the same sensation on another part of my body. I 
bounced out of bed and lighted the gas. Henry followed 
me. We turned down the cover, and oh! horrors! It was 
one seething mass of chinches. The battle between us 
had been one of blood, for we had furnished our enemy 
with it, and then compelled him to forfeit his life for it. 
The sheets were stained with it. Sleep was impossible. 
We held a consultation at 1 o’clock A. M., and decided to 
spend the remainder of the night at Henry’s room at the 
National, as he still held the key to his room. 

The next day we came to the conclusion that we would 
not inform Mrs. P. of the real status of affairs, but ask her 
to let us exchange our room for one' on the lower floor, 
which we had a mind to take at first. She agreed very 
readily. Accordingly, we repaired to our new quarters. 
Now, whether our enemy upstairs, having gotten a taste 
of our quality, was pleased with it, and rightly divining 
our intentions to seek other quarters, had been on the qui 
vive, and overhearing the conversation between ourselves 
and Mrs. P., had anticipated us by moving in ahead, I 
am not prepared to say. But he was there all the same. 
Result: Another midnight conference, concluding with a 
second well conducted retreat to the National. We saw 
that a crisis was at hand, and debated as to the best plan 
of meeting it. We finally decided to make a clean breast 
of it, and ask Mrs. P. to let us off. I was selected to break 
the news. I never hated to do anything as much in my 
life. I felt persuaded a scene was in store for me. I was 
not disappointed. 

When I returned from work at the Government Print¬ 
ing Office that evening, I called in and requested to see 
Mrs. P. She came in, and I told her as gently as I knew 
how of our misfortune, at which she flew into a violent 


96 


rage, and said she had hundreds of gentlemen to occupy 
rooms at her house, but we were the first to accuse her of 
having chinches in her rooms, and that she did not believe 
a word of it. To which we replied, that if she would 
make an inspection of the battle-ground (to-wit, the bed) 
she would obtain proof enough of the truthfulness of 
our assertion, as it was crimson in places with the gore 
of our enemy. We then told her we did not wish to 
leave her unpaid and requested her to name the amount 
of the bill. She said she was a poor, lone woman, and 
should have a month’s rent at least. I plead with her 
so eloquently, however, I suppose, that she finally com¬ 
promised on six dollars. Considering we had not 
occupied the room a single night, this was pretty steep. 
But when you get your hand in a lion’s mouth, you must 
get it out the best way you can. But having it in the 
mouth of a lioness is still worse, as the sequel will show. 
I now informed Mrs. P. that I would he paid off on Mon¬ 
day (this occurred on Saturday) and would call around 
that evening and pay up. This was agreed to. Prom 
some reason, needless to state, I had begun to despair of 
the financial soundness of my friend Brittle. He 
managed somehow to keep pretty full, hut I never saw 
him handling any money. He was, however, one of the 
most plausible fellows in the world, of the most captivat¬ 
ing address, and as handsome as Theodore Tilton, and he 
assured me that he was all right. However, when the 
day came around to pay Mrs. P., about 11 o’clock P. M., 
a few moments after I had been paid off, I received a 
note from Brittle, asking me to come down to the door 
of the office. As soon as I saw him, I knew there was 
something up, nor did he keep me long in suspense. He 
informed me that he had a dead sure thing on the races; 


97 


that he was just from the pool-room at the Imperial 
Hotel, and was in with the book-makers, and that by 
purchasing five dollars worth of “chips” or tickets, he 
could win forty dollars in a twinkling. He said he would 
divide half and half with me. I told him “Ho,” that I 
was not a gambler, and did not care to invest that way. 
That besides, all my pay, except what I wished to send 
home, was already pledged, and that he must remember 
that we had promised to pay the room rent that evening. 
“Room rent; Hell!” he exclaimed, “Why I can raise 
one hundred dollars by calling on B. in fifteen minutes.” 
“B.” it may be remarked, was some invisible friend of 
his who had thousands, and was just dying to lend him 
all the money he wanted, but who, somehow or other, 
always failed to materialize. He assured me that I should 
have the five dollars back that very evening, and he 
would lend me twenty dollars on top of it, if I wanted it. 
With this promise I let him have the money. He agreed 
to meet me in the reading-room at the Metropolitan 
Hotel, at half past five o’clock, to return it. He then 
left, and I went back to my room to my work. I felt 
misgivings, and that old adage, “a fool and his money 
are soon parted,” began to assume the aspect of a stern 
reality. My capital had once before been reduced to the 
nth power of a cent, and came near proving what the 
mathematicians term a “vanishing equation,” owing to 
my disposition to succor the unfortunate, forgetting that 
I was one of them myself. I had learned to practice the 
most rigid economy, even going down so far as to make 
terms with the little hunchback who sold the Evening 
Star in front of the Metropolitan. The price of the 
paper was two cents. I offered to pay him one cent with 
the privilege of reading it in his presence, and returning 
7 


98 


it in time for him to sell it again. This offer he accepted, 
and as he invariably sold it again for two cents, I had 
the satisfaction of knowing I had become an economist 
and philanthropist at the same time, for I saved one 
cent and the little hunchback made two. And now in 
spite of all this, here I was lending the enormous sum of 
five dollars to an impecunious friend, without one iota 
of security. I felt like locking myself in, and administer¬ 
ing a good kicking upon myself for my stupidity. 

But we must look after Brittle and our five dollars, 
and stop moralizing. We had begun an outline of our 
impressions as we returned to our work. A vague feeling 
that Brittle would turn up missing occupied us during 
the entire day, and was really the basis for the fore¬ 
going remarks. As soon as the whistle blew for the 
closing of the day’s work, I set out for the place of 
meeting. As I was passing a Chinese laundry on 6th 
street, between 0. and Louisiana avenue, I saw Brittle 
turn the corner, pass rapidly before me down 6th street 
to Pennsylvania avenue, where I lost sight of him in the 
crowd. Taking it for granted, however, that he was on 
his way to the rendezvous, I paid no special attention 
to it. Imagine my surprise then when I was informed 
by the clerk who knew Brittle well, that he had been 
there hut left an hour ago. My heart sank within me 
I saw through it all. Brittle was dodging me. I went 
on to my dinner with a heavy heart, which quite took 
away my appetite. Five dollars was no great sum, but 
to he deceived by one whom I had helped, and so capable 
of better things, was a painful reflection. However, I 
determined to hunt him up after dinner. After a long 
search I overtook him on the corner of Four-and-a-Half 
and the avenue. He was loaded with whiskey to the 


99 


gunwales, and as hilarious as an old hen who has just 
laid her first egg in the spring time. I was in no mood 
for trifling. Taking him aside I asked him how much 
money he had. “Not a d—n—d cent/’ says he. I asked 
him if he intended to ruin me. To which he replied, 
“Slick, you are a d—n—d fool.” I told him that I was 
in search of information not already in my possession, 
that I had been aware of the fact just stated so forcibly 
ever since eleven o’clock that morning, when I handed 
over to him the amount of five dollars. 

Finding that reasoning with him was like pouring 
water on a duck’s hack, I left him and repaired to the 
residence of Mrs. P. who was expecting me with the 
money. When I acquainted her with all the facts in the 
case, she began to weep. Just at this point her chamber 
door opened, and in walked a man fully six feet high, 
weighing at least two hundred pounds, broad shouldered, 
and looking as powerful and ferocious as John L. 
Sullivan. He spoke, and his voice sounded like the 
roaring of a bull at midnight. “What’s all this I hear? 
Go sir, and tell Brittle that unless he has that money here 
by 7 o’clock, I’ll have him arrested for obtaining money 
under false pretences, and will summon you as a wit¬ 
ness against him.” I saw he was attempting the role 
of a hull-dozer, and determined, if possible, to check 
him, so I made answer, “Not so fast sir, if you please. I 
have made no such assertion touching my friend. He 
belongs to a high-toned honorable family, and I cannot 
listen to such language. If he cannot raise the money, I 
can and will. But he still pawed the carpet and roared 
out “I’ll do what I say, so help me God.” Seeing he could 
not he assuaged I left and went at once to Brittle, to 
whom I related all that had passed. It is said that the 


iL.of C. 


100 


sight of blood, or a sudden blow, will sober a drunken 
man almost instantly. Be that as it may, the startling 
information I imparted brought Henry to his senses at 
once, and he flew into a furious passion, and he vowed 
by all the furies in the infernal region that he would 
cut his d—n—d intestines out. He used a shorter word, 
but not to wound my readers by giving a vulgar appella¬ 
tion to that portion of their anatomy so intimately 
connected with his or her happiness, we omit it. Brittle 
was no coward, and not knowing whether P. was or not, 
I feared there might be a difficulty, and tried to dissuade 
him from his intentions. It was to no purpose, and 
drawing his knife he walked rapidly towards P.’s 
residence. He halted in front of the door and called that 
gentleman out. He came to the door, but refused to 
descend to the street. After gesticulating wildly for a 
few minutes, Brittle became calm, and entered the house. 
It was fully an hour before I saw him again, but when 
I did, he was in the best possible humor, and in answer 
to my query as to Mrs. P., said, “she was the best 
satisfied woman I ever saw.” Wishing to know how he 
accomplished so happy a result in so short a time, he 
replied, “Why I promised to pay her to-morrow by 12 :00 
o’clock sharp.” He did not keep his word and there 
was another stormy interview between him and P., before 
it was finally settled. Hot being a witness, I cannot 
speak more fully of it. 

The reader may well imagine I wanted no more room¬ 
mates while at the capital, and if so, he imagines cor¬ 
rectly. I concluded to go it alone in the future, and while 
it may have cost me a trifle more in money, it more than 
repaid me in other respects. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Mr. Cleveland's Baby Among Other Things. 

All great men have their peculiarities. Whether Julius 
Caesar ever owned a pet cat or no, history does not re¬ 
late. It may be that his biographer knew all his weak¬ 
nesses, but considered it beneath the dignity of history 
to describe them, and thus allowed the rugged outlines of 
his character to come down to us unmellowed by a solitary 
weakness except a propensity to scratch his head with his 
little finger, and even for that little touch of nature which 
makes the whole world kin, we are indebted to Cicero, his 
enemy, and it may he only one of that orator’s figures of 
speech. 

But, whether the ancients had pets or no, we are not 
left in doubt as to the moderns. Napoleon, as every school¬ 
boy knows, had his pet star of destiny. Most people 
handle their pets, but Napoleon allowed his to handle him. 
Then My Lord Wellington had his pets in a certain style 
of boots which bears his name, and which will make him 
remembered when Waterloo is forgotten. And the “Grand 
Old Man,” William E. Gladstone, had a substantial pet 
in the shape of a six pound axe, with which he was wont 
to whack down a tree every morning, in order to whet his 
appetite for breakfast. And there was Prince Bismarck 
with his immense Siberian blood hound, crouching at 
his master’s feet, or walking by his side as he strolled 
through the park. Coming over on our side of the Big 
Pond, we find all our great men more or less engaged 
in fondling pets. General Grant’s pet was a good segar, 


102 


and lie was very fond of it you may be sure. Some men 
make a pet of certain games, such as chess or checkers, 
and although looking at the board constantly, never seem 
to be bored. But Rutherford B. Hayes went a bow shot 
beyond all this, and made a pet of a returning board, with 
the most gratifying results. 

But of all our great men, Grover Cleveland, a confirmed 
bachelor until nearly fifty years of age, chose the most 
singular object for a pet. It was a baby. It is true, that 
it was only his by adoption, as Senator Pendleton, of 
Ohio, enjoyed all the supposed honor of its fatherhood. 
It was born on the floor of the Senate of the United States. 
The late Senator Vance, of North Carolina, was requested 
to act as godfather to the child when it was christened, 
but the witty Tar Heel, from the very first, had no use 
for the brat, and refused to act in that or any other capac¬ 
ity for it. The babe was un-American, in fact, a cross 
between an Englishman and a Chinese, and Vance would 
not touch it with a “forty foot pole.” As soon as born, 
all the stalwart Senators, both North and South, said it 
could not live, that our atmosphere was not congenial 
to it. 

All the Senatorial friends of the babe, however, pro¬ 
nounced it a wonderful child, having the promise as well 
as the potency of all things political. An Ave was sung to 
its mother, “The Star Eyed Goddess of Reform.” As soon 
as it had been washed and clad in its swaddling clothes, 
it was turned over to President Hayes, who had been des¬ 
ignated as wet-nurse to this infantile prodigy. All sorts 
of predictions were made concerning it, when it would 
have arrived at maturity. Some thought it would surpass 
Hercules as an Augean Stable-Cleaner. 

The cabinet and others, high in phrenological author- 


103 


ity, after a careful analysis of its head and body, gave it 
as their conjoint opinion that it would prove one of the 
greatest inventors as well as benefactors of this or any 
other age, that it would prolong official lives indefinitely, 
by throwing around them a network through which needy 
and unfortunate office-seekers and constituents could not 
squeeze. Congressmen laid the flattering unction to their 
souls that this great infant would diminish, if not drive 
away, the great crowds which surge and roar in the Sen¬ 
ate and House lobbies from early morn until dewy eve. 
Some went even so far as to believe they would have 
time to make a tariff speech during a session. Those 
members who spent two-thirds of their time in the depart¬ 
ments, hustling for crumbs for hungry applicants who 
dogged their footsteps at every turn, consoled themselves 
with the thought that they would be rid of all such, and 
could devote themselves entirely to the Agricultural De¬ 
partment, gathering in garden seeds for the voters at 
home, who count, and thus make their election, if not 
their calling, sure. But alas! Hardly had the brat laid 
aside his swaddling clothes and begun to crawl upon the 
floors in the departments, before he began to manifest 
such arrogant tendencies that he was universally despised 
by the leaders of both parties. His appetite to begin with, 
was so enormous that all the “pap” in Washington could 
not satisfy it. He laid the whole government under con¬ 
tribution, not being at all satisfied with his allowance. 
Dark hints and even threats of assassination by strang¬ 
ling were already heard in the House and Senate, while 
some of the great newspapers of the country, notably the 
New York Sun, were in favor of the instant dispatch of 
this un-American monster. But it was the royal infant, 
and like the White Elephant of Siam, its person was 


104 


sacred. Neither party dared lay its sacriligeous hands 
upon it. 

Such was the posture of affairs when Bachelor Cleve¬ 
land became President. a Turn the rascals out” had been 
the slogan during the campaign, and it had been predicted 
that such an exodus from Washington would occur as 
had never been seen in this country before. But who can 
explain the idiosyncrasies of a man or a woman with a 
mission. Hardly had Grover gotten warm in his seat 
before the child was presented to him at the White House, 
by the three nurses, whom President Hayes had appointed 
to look after it in infancy. Now, that Grover is a shy, 
bashful sort of a man, is proven by the fact that he re¬ 
mained single so long. Imagine the laugh then, that 
echoed in those quarters, “where none die and few resign” 
when a morning paper stated in its White House recep¬ 
tion column, that the President had taken the baby in his 
arms and imprinted a resounding kiss on the cheek of this 
execrated national infant; nay more, that he intended in 
his message to Congress, to inform that “practical” body 
that he was infatuated with it. Too true, in his inaugu¬ 
ral, Grover stressed his affection for this adopted child 
of the republic, and called upon Congress, like Queen 
“Vic” upon Parliament, for a handsome sum for its 
maintenance. He employed another skilled nurse, to 
whom he gave directions, that, whenever the child, from 
any cause, needed removal from the malarial atmosphere 
of Washington, they should take it on a jaunt through 
the States, stopping only at such places, where it would 
be well received, and have the honors due to its exalted 
station paid to it. Grover’s passion for it became a per¬ 
fect mania. It was at the White House frequently, and 
if he heard it cry, even at the midnight hour, he would 


105 


bounce out of bed instantly and give it a dose of Curtis’ 
Specific or Dr. Eaton’s Soothing Syrup. The result was, 
as every one expected; the brat was spoilt to death, and 
became a perfect nuisance. But Grover never recovered 
from his infatuation and still coddles it to this day, al¬ 
though it is no longer a child, but wears a number ten 
shoe, as Col. Ingersoll has most wittily said of some other 
“infant industries.” Such is a brief outline of the rise 
of that enfant terrible —Civil Service Reform. 

It is time for us to return to the narrative. I left off 
by saying I had been promoted to the position of copy- 
holder. Lest some of my million readers should be com¬ 
pelled to consult the dictionary, and as they may not all 
possess that commodity, I will explain a little. A copy- 
holder then, is an assistant proof-reader. He reads aloud 
from one copy while the proof-reader does the same si¬ 
lently from another. There were some ten or fifteen of each 
in the room, and when they all read at once, they “made 
Rome howl.” I sometimes read aloud for twelve hours, 
but wearying as it was, it was heaven to what I had been 
doing. Still I was not satisfied. True I had entered the 
citadel as a result of the summer campaign, and resolved 
to allow my veterans—(M. C.’s who had helped me to 
victory) much needed rest. There is no doubt they were 
in want of it. General Jackson is famous for having 
fought and defeated two armies in one day. My troops 
had not only made forced marches, but sometimes fought 
half a dozen unsuccessful battles in the different depart¬ 
ments in a single day. I did not allow such signal cour¬ 
age and devotion to go unrewarded. Hay, verily, as the 
Washington columns of the Weekly Fog-Horn, published 
in the Sand Hills of Alabama or the Pittsylvania Hot- 
Blast will attest. There the true patriot and lover of 


106 


daring deeds can read the record of their mighty achieve¬ 
ments of how their white feather, like Henry’s of Navarre, 
could be seen waving in every department of the enemy, 
from the White House to the Turnip Seed Department 
of the government; of how, fresh from a hand to hand 
conflict with the Public Printer, they charged full tilt 
and headlong against the serried columns of Boutelle’s 
division on the floor of the House, or held listening Sen¬ 
ators spell-hound with the thunders of eloquence. Yes, 
the hoys needed a rest, and I had resolved to let them 
have it, while I was busy with the details of the spring 
campaign. Of all the fortifications with which the enemy 
has entrenched himself in the Capital, the civil service 
redoubt is the most formidable. Senator Yance attempt¬ 
ed to carry it at the point of the bayonet, but was re¬ 
pulsed with heavy loss. Hon. Samuel J. Randall hit 
upon the only available method, which was to starve out 
the garrison. But his confreres on the Committee of Ap¬ 
propriations, while declaring the feasibility of the plan, 
and avowing their desire to carry the fortifications, were 
not in favor of such a barbarous method of warfare. So 
it was left to the sappers and miners at last. These having 
provided themselves with the necessary implements of 
such warfare, the principal of which is a capacious mem¬ 
ory, an enormous supply of arithmetic, history, geogra¬ 
phy, astronomy, chemistry, reading, writing, and spelling, 
proceed silently to the assault. Should they succeed in 
carrying the outer works, they are provided with a scaling- 
ladder, known as “certification,” which is stored away in 
the arsenals (on file) of the respective departments to be 
used as occasion may require. As (none die, and few of 
those so fortunate as to have carried the last line of the 
enemy’s entrenchments, ever resign), the whole army of 


107 


the “certified,” like Hannibal’s host before Rome, goes 
into winter quarters, and lives on hope through the win¬ 
ter, even if they die of despair in the spring. 

The magnitude of such a campaign made us ponder as 
well as pause. Hitherto victory had invariably perched 
upon our banners. Were we approaching our Waterloo? 
Hot if we could help it. Hapoleon paid special attention 
to small matters, and left the great to take care of them¬ 
selves. Great matters are only small ones aggregated. 
The great wheel is of no force with the little one missing 
in machinery. The Civil Service is a very complicated 
piece of mechanism, requiring a great deal of government 
to run it. I got a model of it which the managers furnish 
to applicants and examined all its parts minutely, until, 
as I thought, I knew it thoroughly. I had been a teacher 
for fifteen or twenty years, an editor and a book-keeper, 
and there was no use of “cramming.” At the day ap¬ 
pointed I was on hand. The first thing on docket was to 
answer the following questions of a personal nature: 

ARITHMETIC. 

Ho. 1. What is the rule of “addition, division and 
silence” ? 

Ho. 2. What is the political value of “soap” if it saved 
Indiana ? 

Ho. 3. What is the combination 8 to 7 equal to ? 

Ho. 4. Which is the greater man, G. Cleveland or 
George Washington ? 

Ho. 5. Is the interest a politician takes in a voter com¬ 
pound or simple ? 

Ho. 6. Is the treatment accorded to a defeated candi¬ 
date, bank or true discount ? 

Ho. 7. If a politician promises a friend the Turkish 


108 


Mission, but sends him to Greece, would you call it par¬ 
tial payment? (Note.—You can answer this on a sepa¬ 
rate piece of paper.) 

No. 8. If a Congressman mixes four ounces of ice, 
worth five cents a pound, one ounce of sugar, worth fifteen 
cents a pound, a gill of whiskey, worth twenty-five cents 
a pint, with two gills of water, worth nothing, how much 
does he lose by not drinking it straight ? 

No. 9. When a Congressman promises a place to a 
friend, but gives it to his own son, would you call it can¬ 
cellation; and if so, what is the rule in Washington? 

No. 10. If a member of Congress cannot live on his sal¬ 
ary, how does he live ? 

No. 11. Is a fifty thousand dollar president equal to 
two twenty-five thousand dollar ones ? 

When we had gotten through with this list of valuable 
points in arithmetic, we moved up a peg and struck his¬ 
tory. We have always prided ourselves on this branch of 
human learning, and never for a moment doubted we 
should carry this line, even if we failed on arithmetic. 
It is true the comprehensive nature of the first questions 
were too much for us, but we imagined ourselves safe on 
history. Here is the historical menu : 

No. 1. Who was the first President ? 

No. 2. Was he in favor of female suffrage? 

No. 3. If so, what female? (Note.—The applicant may 
state whether it was Mrs. Frances E. Willard, Elizabeth 
Cady Stanton, or Susan B. Anthony.) 

No. 4. What was the age of Susan B. at that time ? 

No. 5. Was William L. Marcy, or Andrew Jackson, 
the author of Civil Service Reform? 

No. 6. Is George William Curtis, or Dorman B. 


109 


Eaton, the author of the proposition that “To the victors 
belong the spoils” ? 

No. 7. Who is the author of the letters of Junius? 

No. 8. When did the last government clerk die ? 

No. 9. Did he die of old age or commit suicide ? 

No. 10. If the former, state the cause. 

GEOGRAPHY. 

No. 1. What is the population of Ellenville, N. Y. ? 

No. 2. Is there a paper published? 

No. 3. Who edits it? 

No. 5. Where is Buzzard’s Bay ? 

No. 6. How was the name derived ? 

No. 7. To what does it owe its fame ? 

Not having stuffed ourselves with arithmetical, his¬ 
torical, geographical, philosophical, astronomical and 
chemical “chestnuts,” the reader may imagine how dumb¬ 
founded we were in thus being compelled, as it were, to 
plunge into the profoundest recesses of arithmetic and 
history. We were too much discouraged to proceed fur¬ 
ther. Some prejudiced persons in Washington had told 
us that the Civil Service was a humbug, and that the com¬ 
missioners were a lot of cranks who spent their whole 
time consulting Joe Miller and every other joke book in 
the land, for conundrums, etc. That the gentlemen have 
been slandered, the list of questions cited above, abund¬ 
antly shows. We left them a better, if not a wiser man. 
Of course we failed. It may have been because we at¬ 
tempted a victory without the help of the Old Guard 
(our M. C.). At any rate, we retreated gracefully to 
our first line of battle—the proof room of the Government 
Printing Office—and went into winter quarters at once. 

Of all places under the sun, Washington abounds most 


110 


in cranks. Whether this is owing to the presence of so 
many in one body at the Capitol, we cannot say. There is 
the patent medicine crank, the religious crank, the 
female suffrage crank, the labor crank, the black crank, 
the white crank, the yellow and the red crank. But of 
all the cranks we met there, one whom we will call 
Golightly excelled them all. Golightly, at one time, was 
proprietor of a peanut stand at the corner of Seventh 
street and the Avenue, adjoining the St. Marc. As a pea¬ 
nut vender he was a decided success. Having accumu¬ 
lated a few thousand perhaps, he became ambitious. He 
determined to oppose Hon. Charles T. O’Ferrall for 
Congress in the Seventh Virginia District. As a pre¬ 
liminary to this, he began to antagonize President Cleve¬ 
land. For this purpose he rented a hall and had his pos¬ 
ters scattered along the Avenue, stating that on a certain 
evening therein named, he would attack the administra¬ 
tion. When the evening arrived an immense crowd was 
in the hall. Golightly mounted the stand, and the ap¬ 
plause was tremendous. We see him now, the light 
streaming on his flushed face, his little squirrel head in¬ 
clined to one side, a visible smirk of the self conceit that 
devoured him, portrayed on his face. Poor fellow! Lit¬ 
tle did he know, though every one else did, what an ass 
he was making of himself. Then he began, and such a 
speech. It is past reporting. It brought down the house 
at every paragraph; the crowd came to laugh and laugh it 
did to its heart’s content. When he closed his effort, a 
magnificent bouquet was handed him hearing a card with 
the compliments of the President. In the centre of this, 
hid from view, was a dead rat. He received it at the foot¬ 
lights, with all the pride of a young debutante. But, alas! 
that rat brought him to his senses. He left the house in 



Ill 


disgust. We only heard of him once more. He went to 
Colonel O’Ferrall’s district, made one speech, quit the 
scene and went West. Perhaps he was killed in the 
Seventh District, as in Washington, with a bouquet. Go- 
lightly was a “daisy” you may be sure. 

Then there was the religious crank, only he had sense 
and Golightly did not. He was an Irishman. We first 
saw him in the Postoffice Department in search of a job. 
Our next meeting possesses so dramatic an interest as 
to merit a full description. About this time a Holiness 
meeting, so called, was in progress in Washington. A 
large tent, holding perhaps fifteen hundred people was 
erected on one of the squares, and was packed daily and 
nightly with immense crowds. Our curiosity was ex¬ 
cited, and being somewhat of an Athenian, we desired 
to hear of this new thing. The minister who held forth 
laid down the following proposition: “All men are de¬ 
praved by nature. Sin is the result of depravity. Ergo, 
we must he rid of depravity ere we can he rid of sin.” 
He then argued that inasmuch as man is not responsible 
for depravity, God cannot forgive it, and whereas sin is 
the result of depravity, when God forgives sin He will re¬ 
move the depravity also, if you ask Him. This last, he 
said, was “The Second Blessing, and without it no man 
could have assurance of salvation.” Hot being much of a 
theologian, and what little theology I did have, having 
become well-nigh obsolete by coming in contact so often 
with heads of departments, members of the House, Sena¬ 
tors and Supreme Court Judges, I determined, if possi¬ 
ble, to learn more of this new theology, as the old ap¬ 
peared to have no effect on the consciences of Congress¬ 
men. Accordingly, having seen a notice in the Evening 
Star a few evenings afterwards, that a meeting for church 


112 


members’ benefit especially would be held at Brother C.’s 
house, on M street, on the following Wednesday night, I 
determined to attend it. 

When I arrived upon the scene there were about one 
hundred men and women in the room, with the Irishman 
aforesaid as the Mercurius of the meeting. I was con¬ 
siderably taken back at this, as he was well endorsed by 
Hon. Simon Cameron and other astute politicians, which 
spoke well for his membership of the Republican party, 
but I was not prepared to see him essay the role of a 
leader in holiness. At least his endorsers never mani¬ 
fested a weakness of that sort. However, he took the 
stand, and when he opened his mouth I caught the follow¬ 
ing: “Me brithren and sisters, when I landed in this 
coonthry, I had only fifty cints in me pocket and the grace 
of God in me heart, and now I have experienced this 
blessing of which I was ignorint intoirly, and have a 
good situation under the government.” He then urged all 
members of the church present to come forward and be 
“sanctified.” Nearly every one in the room except myself 
and a red-headed Scotchman obeyed the call and knelt 
at the altar. After a short interval, the last mother’s 
son and daughter of them arose and made a profession of 
entire sanctification. Then it was that a committee of old 
women advanced upon the red-headed Scotchman and my¬ 
self. They asked me if I was a church member. I told 
them I was a Methodist. “What!” says an old lady, who 
stood directly in front of me, “a Methodist and not 
believe in sanctification ?” I told her I believed in it, but 
not as she did. “Well, then, how do you believe in it?” 
I told her I did not believe you could jump into it, for 
the Bible does not say jump into, but grow in grace, and 
that all healthy growth was slow. She then left me, re- 


113 


marking, “I am much afraid, young man, you will be 
lost.” The old sister need not have had any fears on that 
subject, as we owned ourselves in a lost condition as soon 
as we struck the crowd in that room. Having gotten all 
the audience except myself and friend of the fiery locks 
sanctified, he began, as the boys say, to show his hand. He 
untied a large bundle and at once began the sale of small 
pamphlets containing, he said, hymns of his own composi¬ 
tion. They went like “hot cakes.” As soon as this neat 
stroke of business was over, the next thing on the pro¬ 
gramme was a crusade against the use of tobacco in any 
form. He declared it was a sin to use it, that the Holy 
Spirit would forsake the heart of anyone who did. As I 
had a quid of the dimensions of an English walnut stored 
away in the capacious recesses of my left jaw, I began to 
feel uncomfortable, and whereas I had felt no desire to 
spit before, it now seemed as if every gland in my mouth 
had raised its flood-gates, and it was as full of tobacco 
juice as an egg is of meat. There was no place to spit 
except on the carpet, and as that, according to my way of 
thinking, would be a sin sure enough, I had but one re¬ 
source left, to swallow it, which I did. I was now pre¬ 
pared to resist the most powerful appeals. The excite¬ 
ment over the use of tobacco soon exceeded that over 
sanctification. Persons got up all over the room and con¬ 
fessed their sins in this respect. At last an old lady, 
wearing one of those peculiar bonnets in fashion forty 
years ago, arose. Her keen black eyes, far hack in her 
head, shone like a ferret’s. Her chin, which was long 
and had an upward curve, came nearly in contact with her 
nose, which, perhaps, in compliment to her chin, curved 
downward. Raising her long and lank right arm, and let¬ 
ting it fall heavily, she began: “When I was down in Ann 
8 


114 


Arandell county I had my ‘pyip’ (for pipe) in my mouth 
all the time. When I wanted to praise the Lord, there was 
that pyip in my mouth, and I could not say a word. I 
prayed to the good Lord and He took that pyip out of 
my mouth and flung it away, and ever since that time it 
has been Glory Halleluiah.” The effect of this speech 
was electrical. There was shouting and clapping of hands 
all over the house. My red-headed friend could not stand 
the pressure. He fell on his knees and began praying, 
“Oh! Lord, take the taste of tobacco out of my mouth.” 
I made for the door and left. About a week afterwards, as 
I was passing down the Avenue, I saw my friend standing 
in front of Willard’s. He was chewing tobacco as fast 
as a billy goat masticates a circus poster. I halted and 
exclaimed, Hello, old fellow! What! chewing tobacco 
again? I thought you were converted the other night. 
“So I was,” says he, “but I fell from grace ” 

It is not the aim of these sketches to inculcate any new 
system of moral philosophy or religion. The old ones 
promulgated from Sinai and the Mount of Olives are good 
enough for us. “Shooting folly as it flies” or sits either, for 
that matter, is our aim, and we can do it best by simply 
holding the mirror up to nature without comment on our 
part. But we cannot help remarking at this point, that if 
you wish to see how confidence may he lost as to the sin¬ 
cerity of any one’s religion, let him or her attempt to make 
merchandise of it, as this fellow did. The only mystery 
about the whole affair was that anyone could have been 
found silly enough not to have seen what his object was. 
As for the old woman and one or two men present, they 
might have supplied Charles Dickens or Victor Hugo ma¬ 
terial enough for a half dozen characters, which their 
readers would have pronounced impossible. Is it any 


115 


wonder that the North is the hot-bed of every new ism un¬ 
der the sun, when a shrewd Irishman could “pull the wool 
over their eyes” with his sanctification blarney after this 
fashion. The Northern people seem to think there is 
nothing sacrilegious in making money out of religion. The 
Southern people do. And right there is where the two 
people begin to differ, and they never cease until the con¬ 
viction is horn that the Northern man is an arrant hypo¬ 
crite and the Southern intolerant. Both these may he 
true, and the choice lies as to which is the most despicable 
character. While the North professes to love the down¬ 
trodden and oppressed everywhere, a residence of several 
years there has convinced me that their love for the negro 
has no higher principle than their hatred of the Southern 
white man. A still longer residence in the South con¬ 
vinces me that a Southern white man can only tolerate a 
Northern one in proportion as he conforms to Southern 
ideas of propriety and civil government. The Southern 
man can tolerate the man who drinks, swears, and dissi¬ 
pates, but has no use for one who, while singing Psalms 
through his nose, is propagating a scheme to enrich him¬ 
self, or teaching the most rank heresy. At the North, 
Anarchism, Socialism, Nilhilism, Henry Georgeism and 
every other ism seems possible. At the South, under ex¬ 
isting conditions they are utterly impossible, and are, 
therefore, never attempted. The question then may be 
put, Can they ever be one people ? With all due deference 
to the opinions of others, we answer, Never! The North¬ 
ern monkey, in order to get his chestnuts out of the fire, 
may profess great love for the Southern cat, and the farce 
may he kept up as long as this necessity exists. But if left 
to decide as to who is the best friend of the South, the 
Northern Democrat or Republican, we would answer, 


116 


neither. The Northern Democrat, for political reasons, 
professes great friendship for the Southern white. 
The Northern Republicans profess, for the same reasons, 
great friendship for the Southern black man. The South 
is aware of this, and for political reasons, acts with the 
Northern Democracy. The whole thing is a perfect farce, 
so far as genuine friendship is concerned, for there is 
none of it. Perhaps you do not believe this. Well, then, 
get your member to procure you a subordinate position in 
one of the departments in Washington, keep your ears 
open for one month, and let me hear from you at the 
end of that time. 

When we began to descant on the beauties of Civil Ser¬ 
vice Reform, we were in the proof room of specifications 
of the Government Printing Office. We will return to it. 
We said there were ten or fifteen proof-readers there. Let 
us take a look at them. A glance at their heads and fea¬ 
tures reveals the fact that they should be men of more than 
ordinary intellects. And so they were at one time. They 
had been poring and pondering over words, periods, and 
fly-specks until their minds had become microscopical, 
and an idea larger than a pin’s point would have split 
their skulls wide open. We are not saying that a little 
idea is not of as much value to the world as a big one. In 
fact, we believe it is more so. Men of big ideas generally 
turn up in the chain-gang or the work-house, and a few 
end their existence in a more dramatic way than either of 
these. Men of big ideas generally have but one, and that 
one is nearly always wrong. There was, for example, 
Guiteau. He had a big idea, and but one, and in carry¬ 
ing it out, carried himself out with it, which was the most 
creditable thing about it. But it would require a volume 
to relate the misery brought upon mankind by men with 


117 


big ideas, while as to the woman with one, “angels and 
ministers of grace defend us!” 

But we said the minds of these proof-readers had be¬ 
come microscopical. This was perfectly natural. The 
human mind becomes professional. Take an illustration. 
An artillery officer, passing by some beautiful elevation, 
would say: “What a place for a battery,” and a minister 
would say, “what a situation for a church,” a pedagogue, 
“what a site for a school-house,” while the man of capital 
would say: “A fine place for a suburban or country resi¬ 
dence.” Just so with our friends, the proof-readers. So 
much accustomed were they to the proper way to convey 
an idea that they lost sight of the idea itself. That this 
habit of mind leads to superficiality, just as one person 
who has no other way of judging of another except by 
the clothes he wears, there can be no question. A proof¬ 
reader must be correct or nothing, and this tendency 
sometimes threw the whole room into confusion. It is 
hard for even a proof-reader to decide as to the difference 
between a period and a fly-speck. On such awful occa¬ 
sions, the whole room would pour the full force of its 
united intellects on the burning question at issue. First 
would come Morse, the Nestor of the room, and a splendid 
judge of small matters. Adjusting his double convex 
glasses, he would gaze at the disputed spot with all the 
rapt intensity of a Herschel gazing through his telescope 
at some planet hitherto unknown. Failing to reach a de¬ 
cision by this means, he would bring a magnoscope, which 
he always kept, and which would magnify a hundred fold. 
By this time the whole corps would be gathered around 
the desk in question, and, after a look, each one would give 
his opinion in turn. Marston, from Philadelphia, was of 
the opinion that the matter should be settled by the sense 


118 


of the paragraph, and not by that of sight. He would 
argue, and argue ably, that there was no sense in a fly- 
speck at that particular juncture. Frost, who was from 
Georgia, would argue that he was an authority on fly- 
specks, as flies did not hibernate in his State, and he, there¬ 
fore, had double the facility of any other man in the room 
for deciding the vexed question. Bradly, who was from 
Maryland, spoke very wisely in saying that in a matter 
of so much importance they should not act too hastily; it 
was one requiring very great deliberation, as the honor 
of the whole corps was involved in their decision. Platt, 
when called on, would give such a prodigious sneeze that 
he startled every individual fly in the room, causing them 
to fly away in search of pastures new, and thereby pre¬ 
venting the boys from obtaining any new evidence, as it 
were, from the most recent sources, to-wit, the flies them¬ 
selves. Another candidate for the honors of punctuation, 
a dark horse by the name of Lavalette, would be put in 
nomination, but failing to get the required vote of two- 
thirds, he too would retire. As a last resort, finding they 
could not agree, the whole matter would be referred to 
Stoner, an authority in the patent office, and the room 
would once more resume its tranquility and pursue the 
even tenor of its way. 

But now a marvelous change came over the spirit of my 
dreams. The President, after allowing Mr. Rounds to 
remain in office a year and a half, at last requested his 
resignation. He appointed as his successor Thomas E. 
Benedict. Benedict was a nonentity from the interior of 
Hew York State, hailing from Ellenville or Sallyville, or 
some other obscure village only known to the local geogra¬ 
pher of the neighborhood from where he came. When 
Cleveland fished him up from the vasty deep of ob- 


119 


scurity, the following facts came to the surface with him: 
He was at one time a member of the Hew York Assembly, 
where, it is said, he had achieved the reputation of a 
rigid economist. We have always observed that when a 
public man is entirely destitute of talent, he always turns 
his attention to economy, it requiring no gifts of mind to 
be stingy, nor any sacrifice of your own, to curtail the 
salaries of others; for if there is one solitary instance of 
an economist cutting down his own salary we cannot recall 
it. In fact, their interpretation of the passage, physician 
heal thyself, should be changed so that the word heal 
should be spelt “ h-e-e-1,” for that is what they generally 
do while in office. Benedict was a long-legged, lantern- 
jawed, raw-boned, sandy-haired specimen of a rural Hew 
Yorker, and in addition to his legislative experience, was 
also editor and proprietor of a weekly newspaper in his 
native village. This is, we believe, a full account of all 
the facts that could be gleaned in regard to him before his 
advent in Washington. Shakespeare says, “Some men are 
born great, some achieve greatness, and some have great¬ 
ness thrust upon them.” Benedict belongs to the latter 
class. Ho one in these United States except Grover Cleve¬ 
land would have ever brought such an obscure person into 
such sudden prominence. Grover was brought in that 
way himself, and having survived the shock, concluded 
perhaps, that his friend could do likewise But he was 
mistaken. Benedict thrust away the greatness thrust 
upon him faster than anyone we ever knew. The poor 
man was bewildered, demoralized, nay, all but paralyzed. 
Accustomed to swearing at the “devil” and a couple of 
printers perhaps, in the office of a weekly newspaper at 
Ellenville or Sallyville, he suddenly found himself placed 
over one of the largest establishments, employing more 


120 


skilled labor, and requiring more brains than any other 
like establishment in the world. Is it any wonder the poor 
fellow was at sea, and knew not which way to turn. But 
the insolence of office, like smallpox, is very contagious, 
and he had not been in office two weeks before he had 
assumed all the airs which are supposed to throw a halo 
around official heads. But “uneasy lies the head that 
wears a crown.” The law requires that every one filling 
the office of Public Printer shall be one himself, that 
is to say, a practical printer. How Benedict was ignorant 
of the art of setting type, and as he had to be confirmed 
by the Senate, he kept his insolence in bounds. The reason 
was this: The Senate was Republican by a small majority, 
and should Benedict begin his game of economy by dis¬ 
charging printers too soon, he ran the no small risk of 
returning to Ellenville or Sallyville and obscurity, before 
he, as an official baby, had been washed, dressed and stored 
away snugly in the public crib. As a consequence of all 
this, the time-servers in the office knew not how to trim 
their sails to catch the breeze; the timid fellows quaked 
in their boots, leaving such as knew they had to go sooner 
or later, the only happy ones to be found in the building. 
But at last the Senate christened the infant, and forthwith 
the official axe began to fall. 

The first heads to roll into the basket in the Specifi¬ 
cations Room were those of Miller, the foreman, and 
Stimson, a copy-holder. As these two men were sworn 
enemies, and frequently threw the proof-room into an 
uproar with their quarrels, it might be said that although 
not as lovely in their lives as David and Jonathan, yet in 
their deaths they were not divided. Miller was a Repub¬ 
lican, Stimson a Democrat, endorsed by the Democratic 
Senators and members from North Carolina. His dis- 


121 


charge showed plainly enough that Benedict was not a 
Democrat, or that he made some sort of a bargain with the 
Republican Senators in order to he confirmed. A taste 
of blood seemed to whet the appetite of the Public Printer. 
He began his official slaughter now by wholesale, every 
Saturday evening, and the whole force of two thousand 
men would be thrown in the utmost consternation. Strong 
men would he seen weeping, as they received the fatal 
yellow envelope containing their doom, which was to he 
turned into the streets of the city without employment 
in the dead of winter, many of them with large families to 
support. Others not given to the melting mood, would 
indulge in imprecations dire upon the head of the upstart 
helowstairs. Sturdy Democrats, veterans of many hard 
fought campaigns against the Republican party, as they 
saw themselves thrust out of even this poor place by this 
pretended Democrat, would vent their rage upon Cleveland 
himself, and swear they would never lift a finger for the 
party again. One of these I encountered a year afterwards 
in a Southern city, when Cleveland had been re-nominated 
by the Democratic party. He was from South Carolina. He 
asked as soon as I told him “howdy,” how I intended voting 
and when my answer was given, he urged me by all that 
was good and bad to vote for Harrison. “Hot that I have 
anything against Cleveland,” says he, “but, how can you 
reach Benedict in any other way.” 

And so the slaughter continued from week to week. 
Miller had been replaced by E. W. Oyster, who was like 
Major Bagstock, “deep and devilish sly.” As for our¬ 
selves, when Honorable George C. Cabell was defeated, 
we knew our fate was sealed, and prepared for it. We 
had seen Democrat after Democrat from the South walk 
the plank, and expected no quarter. We were not disap- 


122 


pointed. On Saturday, March 19, 1887, we received the 
following document in a yellow envelope: 

Government Printing Office, March 18, 1887. 
Mr. Samuel Slick, Jr.: 

I am instructed by the Public Printer to inform you that your 
services will not be required in the office after this date. 

W. T. Bryan, 
Foreman of Printing. 

We were reading copy at the time we received this por¬ 
tentous document, but did not open it until we had dis¬ 
charged our day’s work, as we did not care to swindle our 
poor government out of five minutes’ time. When the day 
closed, however, I went to the foreman’s room and re¬ 
quested the assistant foreman, Walter Mills, to extend my 
condolence to Benedict, and tell him I knew he would have 
a hard time without me; that, in fact, I could not see how 
he could run the office in my absence. And sure enough, 
it was not a month after we left Washington before there 
was the loudest sort of complaint on the floors of Congress 
that the Congressional Record was not fit for a dog to read, 
and that constituents who were just dying to read the last 
speech delivered by their members on the tariff, could not 
get them, as they were in the hands of the public printer, 
and that they might as well have been sent to the Chinese 
Embassy, with expectations of seeing them again. 

And here endeth the last chapter of the first part of this 
veracious history. 


Part Second. 







CHAPTER I. 


Hannibal after enjoying the sweets of Italy for fifteen 
years, is said to have taken a tearful leave of the land of 
Tasso, Dante and Alfieri. Hapoleon is said to have wept 
in bidding the Old Guard farewell. But our leaving 
Washington, the scene of many conflicts, and around 
which cluster so many memories, sweet as well as bitter, 
was attended with no tears. Far from it. We were in 
no mood for them at that time, though nature itself was 
in mourning as if for our departure. The streets were full 
of slush ankle deep, the heavens were black with clouds, 
and a blinding snow-storm was in progress. Under such 
ominous portents as these, we pulled out from the 6th 
street depot of the Richmond and Fredericksburg rail¬ 
road, Monday morning, March 21st, 1887, with but one 
solitary companion in exile—Amos Keeter, who was 
compelled to walk the plank the same day Avith ourselves. 
We left the rush and roar of the great city, the hopes of 
official preferment, but most of all, official slavery behind 
us. We were as free as the birds of the air. Ho petty 
government boss to crack his official whip over our heads. 
Ho time keeper poking about to see if we were in our 
places. Ho more government employment for us. We 
have had enough of it to last a life-time. 

It is not a case of “sour grapes.” Have not we been 
up the trees and know all about it ? We fought as hard as 
ever man did to get a position; we got it with great joy, 
and gave it up Avithout the least regret. Isn’t that com¬ 
prehensive enough ? Oh no! all the fools are not dead 
yet, and never will be as long as the world stands, and 


126 


so Washington, the morning we left, and the day after 
and every day since, has been filled with an ever increas¬ 
ing crowd of hungry applicants, male and female, who 
look upon a place in Washington as just the next thing 
to Heaven, and worry both themselves and their Con¬ 
gressman into the other place trying to get one. 

Did we leave no friends in Washington with whom 
it was painful to part ? We only had three. Two of these 
I left in Sodom, the other I brought with me. The 
atmosphere of Washington is not conductive to friend¬ 
ship, as we have already shown. Pigs are not very 
friendly around the trough that has the milk. Two cats 
trying to lap out of the same plate are not wont to indulge 
in love pats. Every man in Washington, who is not a 
tourist, is after something. If you are there, you are after 
something, and the fact that you and a hundred others 
may be after the same thing, is not so conductive to con¬ 
fidence and friendship, as some other things we might 
mention. 

But Washington is a fine place to live in when you have 
money. So are hundreds of other cities in the Union. 
But there is one feature about the capital in marked 
contrast to other places. There is no pretense in regard 
to poverty. The Washingtonians “make no bones” about 
their contempt for the greenhorn without guineas. He 
is a tough citizen with them as soon as that fact is 
ascertained. And why should they not ? What right has 
a poor fool to be found in such an elegant city as Washing¬ 
ton, with its Senate of Millionaires, its beautiful parks 
and playing fountains. His member would as lief see 
the Devil himself. Then why expect a Washingtonian, 
accustomed to the sight of the Capitol Park, the Smith¬ 
sonian, the Soldiers’ Home, and the Corcoran Art Gallery, 


127 


to put up with the sight of a lousy loafer from the States. 
The very idea is preposterous. Nine times in ten when 
he does “put up with him/’ he finds all the plate missing 
the next morning. Oh, hut you will say, “There are 
honest poor men in Washington?” Well, suppose there 
are, what business have they there ? If they had any they 
should attend to it, and not he seen loafing around the 
hotels, paining the eyes of the well-dressed people with 
plenty of money in their pockets, or paralyzing the clerks 
with their brazen poverty. No, we repeat it. Poor 
fellows have no business in Washington. Nobody wants 
them there, I am sure, and no self-respecting poor man 
ought to be seen where he is not wanted; and where that 
place is in times of peace, the Lord only knows. 

We were speaking of the morning we left, and we 
should not omit one item in our leave taking, to-wit: 
The state of our exchequer. When we were given our 
“walking papers,” we drew from Uncle Sam forty-five 
dollars due us for services rendered. Deduct from that 
twenty-six dollars paid out for board and lodging, and 
you have the precise amount with which we turned our 
faces homeward. My companion, Amos Keeter, of whom 
I have spoken, was not so fortunate, being without a 
dollar. We concluded to come by way of Richmond in 
search of employment. The ticket to that point cost me 
seven dollars and sixty cents, expenses there for one day 
for two, amounted to three dollars, and tickets for two 
to Lynchburg, to ten dollars more, expenses for two one 
half day there, one dollar and fifty cents, one pair of 
pants four dollars and fifty cents, other incidental 
expenses en route two dollars and forty cents, balance 
on hand equal to nothing. We were eighty miles from 
home, without money and, of course, without friends. 


128 


Nature however, had supplied both of us with an excellent 
pair of legs, and as legs do not require payment in 
advance for travelling, we resolved to use them. Accord¬ 
ingly, about 2 P. I., we shook the dust of Lynchburg 
from our feet, via Virginia Midland Railroad. I had 
taken the precaution to lay in a supply of bacon and hard 
tack for the march. Living eighteen miles due south of 
Lynchburg, was an old friend of ours by the name of 
Haden. We had not seen him for fourteen years, but, 
having ascertained that he was still in the land of the 
living, we pushed on as rapidly as possible in order to 
reach his house before nightfall. We arrived there about 
10 o’clock at night, and after hallooing at a high rate 
for half an hour, failed to rouse him. It was too dark to 
travel, and nothing else was left us but the alternative of 
camping out. Accordingly we made for a thicket of 
pines on the east side of the railroad. It was bitterly 
cold, and the March wind was howling at us like some 
mocking demon let loose upon us to laugh at our situation. 
Having cut down a goodly number of young pines and 
placed them bottom upwards around us to keep off the 
wind, we lit our camp-fire, and proceeded to make our¬ 
selves at home by toasting cheese, which when spread 
upon the hard tack was quite toothsome. Having listened 
to the soughing of the wind through the pines, having 
drunk to the full the poetry of the situation, and having 
cracked many a joke at our own expense as well as that 
of others, we at last fell asleep and slept the sleep of the 
just. At the first faint streak of light in the East, we 
awoke. The cause was this: Without knowing it, in 
the darkness, we had pitched our tent near the abode of a 
farmer, and when he called his hogs in the morning, we 
answered to the same by awakening. He soon perceived 


129 


the smoke curling up above the pines, and at once 
advanced towards us to inspect the cause. When within 
a few feet of us, he stopped, and brushing the under¬ 
growth out of his way, made a careful inspection. Seeing 
no chicken feathers lying around, nor pots boiling, he 
passed on. Poor man! Little did he imagine he was 
gazing at one backed by an entire Congressional delega¬ 
tion, two Senators, and a Supreme Court judge. Little 
did he imagine the young man with me would one day 
convulse villages and cities with laughter at his match¬ 
less impersonations. Not he, or he would have invited us to 
take breakfast with him, and thereby honored his family 
with our acquaintance. And so the world goes, misjudg¬ 
ing its great men, until the great man doesn’t care a 
straw for its judgment one way or the other, as did Dr. 
Samuel Johnson in regard to my Lord Chesterfield. More¬ 
over, could this tiller of the soil but have known it, 
politics not only make strange bedfellows sometimes, but 
strange beds also, occasionally. 

However, whatever the farmer may have imagined, we 
promptly arose, ate our breakfast of toasted meat and 
hard tack, and resumed our march. Amos had friends 
seven or eight miles further on, and when we arrived at 
that point, he went into camp for a week, and I took the 
train and landed on my baronial estates without a dollar. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 


Office-seeking as well as office-holding is a disease, 
having both types, mild and malignant. The former may 
be cured if attended to in time, by the application of 
some other good business, a rich wife, or some other wind¬ 
fall. But the malignant type is past remedy. Why we 
have known fine lawyers, whose practice was worth 
fifteen thousand a year, gladly surrender it for a seat in 
Congress worth only five thousand. We have known men 
of business, worth $200,000, living in luxury and 
splendor, lying awake at night and worrying themselves 
to death with schemes to get a nomination to the State 
Senate, at the pitiful stipend of four dollars a day. 

These office-seeking, office-holding sufferers are divided 
into two classes. Those who want the honor, and 
those who want the salary. How, I, Samuel Slick, Jr., 
belong to the category last named, agreeing with my 
great friend, William Shakespeare, that inasmuch as 
honor in the absence of money will not set a leg, or fill 
an empty belly, as set forth by that eminent Attorney- 
General of Virginia, F. D. Blair, some years ago, and 
which great law point still holds good notwithstanding 
the assaults made upon it by other great constitutional 
lawyers, whose abdomens were in a flourishing condi¬ 
tion. 

This being so, and my official disease, recurring again 
on account of the malarial atmosphere, produced by Mr. 
Cleveland’s second term, I once more resorted to the 
famous official health-giving resort, Washington, D. C. 

How, I had sized up your Uncle Grover, as I thought, 


131 


pretty well during my previous experience with his first 
term, and determined to profit thereby. As is well known, 
Grover has held office all his life, and ought to know 
how one is gotten. And. it must he confessed he has one 
trick of the political cards, which for fineness has never 
been excelled, and that other men may profit thereby, 
we will expose it. For instance, while the “machine” 
is grinding you out as a candidate, stand in with it; 
while the leaders and bosses are managing the campaign 
for you and doing the dirty work, or having it done for 
you, keep your mouth shut. But as soon as the battle 
is won, and the men who elected you come around for 
any little favors that may he lying loose around the White 
House, why then, give them the cold shoulder. Now 
mark the effect. The politicians begin to curse and swear 
at you like the army in Flanders. As soon as this occurs, 
someone advertises you as not standing in with the gang 
and that you are above such, that you are a statesman 
with a capital S, and that since you have hoodwinked the 
politicians, you are greater than they are, and as the 
people who have been looking up to their representatives, 
and now see them tumble down, conclude of course, you 
are the greatest man in the country, and therefore 
greater than your party. Do you see the point? After 
this the rest is easy, and as the great mass of mankind 
mistake thunder for lightning anyhow, and your great 
statesmen have only to give vent to a few ponderous com¬ 
monplaces, which, like a Delphic utterance, may mean 
something or nothing, and the job is done. 

But before repairing to the capital, I had accumulated 
a little more political capital, alias, party credit, as I 
imagined, and laid several politicians under some strong 
obligations to aid me in my second assault on the office- 


132 


holding intrenchments at Washington. For instance, I 
had edited a campaign sheet entitled “The Alliance — 
Democrat ” in which I proved that Claude A. Swanson 
was a great man, and that Grover was also great, in both 
of which undertakings I must have been successful, as 
they swept the Fifth District like a whirlwind, and Claude 
has been there in Washington ever since. 

Hence, when I went to Washington, it was with an air 
of confidence. Daniel Webster said of Alexander Hamil¬ 
ton that he smote the rock of our national credit, and 
treasures gushed forth. With a feeling somewhat akin to 
this I packed my grip, and having secured a free pass 
over the Midland road, I hied me to Washington. As I 
still controlled the campaign sheet aforesaid, I wrote let¬ 
ters to it, telling of my progress, as a general would send 
dispatches to his government detailing his operations in 
the enemy’s country. Here is 

Letter Ho. 1. 

Washington, D. C., May 25, 1894. 

As soon as I arrived here, I determined to call on 
Grover, as I had received several pressing invitations to 
call at the White House. I did so, but, to my great as¬ 
tonishment, I found my friend—the President—overcome 
with grief. Wishing to ascertain the cause of his depres¬ 
sion, I was told by him that he had no one to blow his horn 
in the Senate Chamber, and even when he tried to have a 
Hornblower in the Supreme Court he was foiled, for as 
fast as he sent in a nomination that blasted little game 
rooster from Hew York—D. B. Hill—would Peckham 
all to pieces. 

I next called at the Treasury Department. As you all 


133 


know, Secretary Carlisle is very polite to strangers. In 
fact, the stranger yon are, the more polite he is. He asked 
me if he could he of any service to me, and I told him I 
had just read in a Washington newspaper that the oldest 
person in the United States was in the Treasury Depart¬ 
ment. He smiled, and said he did not know about that, 
but was satisfied there were a great many ancient Repub¬ 
lican office-holders in the building, some of whom had 
come in muster free during Lincoln’s first term. He asked 
me if I had a copy of the paper containing the item, and 
I at once produced a copy of the Washington Post contain¬ 
ing an article headed—Seigniorage in the Treasury; what 
shall be done with it ? 

Some people had told me that John G. Carlisle has 
never been known to laugh since he came to know he was 
born east of the Ohio river, and realized he was ineligible 
to a presidential nomination. It is all a mistake, as I 
can testify from personal observation. He broke into 
such a fit of cachination that his son Logan came rushing 
from an adjoining room, fearing the worst should happen 
to the nation should his father die from cachination. I 
left at once. 

Wishing to know if Secretary Gresham had received 
any late advices touching Honolulu, I went over to the 
State Department to see that astute politician. The 
Secretary and myself are chums, so to speak, both of us 
having quite recently come over to the Democratic party, 
he to accept the portfolio of State, and I to take anything 
I can get. Of course, I expected a cordial reception, and 
I got it. As soon as he saw me he exclaimed, “Why, 
Hawaii, old boy, I’m glad to see you,” and taking both 
of my hands in his wished to know what he could do for 
me. I told him I was in search of information rather than 


134 


office, but if there were any consulates lying around loose 
I was open to an offer. He replied that if George D. 
Wise allowed any office to go unsought it was because 
he could not find a constituent to fill it, and that his quota 
was full. I replied, it made no difference, as I was a 
Democrat now and not a Mugwump, and was merely 
joking about a consulate, as I did not think of leaving 
my country in its present deplorable situation when it so 
much needs the services of her most talented son. The 
conversation then turned upon the “Hawaiian Muddle/’ 
and Walter gave me the true inwardness of that affair, 
which I, as a patriotic American citizen, feel called upon 
to impart to my distressed countrymen through the col¬ 
umns of my paper. 

He said: Mr. Slick, as you well know, Cleveland spent 
the greater part of his life as a bachelor in one of the in¬ 
terior cities of Hew York, living in apartments to him¬ 
self and doing his own cooking. Very frequently, when 
funds were low, he would dine at lunch counters, his 
menu consisting of a ham sandwich. This became his 
favorite dish, and I may say, tinctured his whole after 
life. Anything that smacked of ham enlisted his sympa¬ 
thies at once. This is why he retained Fred Douglas in 
office so long during his first term and appointed another 
negro to fill his place when he resigned. The public 
never knew this, but what is the use of a man holding 
my office if he does not catch on to State secrets. Do you 
see ? 

Well, when this Hawaiian affair came along, it was a 
foregone conclusion how Grover would act. “Lil” was 
a descendant of Ham, and Queen of the Sandwich Islands. 
The association of ideas was too great for Grover, and he 
tumbled to the racket at once. Hence his infatuation for 


135 


her dusky majesty. Hence the Hawaiian muddle. It 
may seem like a breach of confidence to blow on Walter 
in this way, but when the greatest interest of my country 
is at stake, when it is literally dying for information, so 
to speak, I am bound to speak out. Then besides, the 
reputation of Grover Cleveland is dear to me, for having 
held the office of plasterer under him during his first 
term, it is but natural that I should want to “whitewash” 
him ever afterwards. Bidding my friend Gresham a 
painful adieu, I next wended my way to the Department 
of Agriculture, as I wished to obtain some fresh data 
concerning the ravages of insects. 

Mr. Morton informed me that while Mrs. Lease, Gov¬ 
ernor Lewelling and the grasshoppers were still “bleed¬ 
ing Kansas,” he had nothing fresh to impart. The ento¬ 
mologist of the department, however, was preparing a 
large volume entitled “Vestigia Goldbugiensis,” which 
would be circulated gratuitously by him. Thanks! 
thanks ! George D. Wise ! Who will say you should not he 
renominated. The man who shows the people of the Met¬ 
ropolitan district how to get rid of goldbugs will render 
his country a service compared to which even that of 
Pasteur must pale. 

The conversation then turned upon the weather, and I 
asked the Secretary how he accounted for such phenome¬ 
nally wet weather, to which he replied, that it was all 
owing to the United States Senate, and D. B. Hill dn 
particular. How, I am logical or nothing, and you may 
well imagine my surprise at receiving such an answer, and 
when I had recovered from the shock I ventured to ask 
how the two agencies referred to could produce such a 
result. His reply was a crusher, so to speak. “Why, 
you know,” says he, “Mr. Cleveland recently sent in the 


136 


names of Hornblower and Peckham to be justices of the 
Supreme Court. Now, both of these gentlemen are dear 
to the heart of every mugwump, and when they were 
both turned down every mugwump in the United States 
and Canada wept so profusely that it affected the atmos¬ 
phere, for their tears, being too pure to mix with com¬ 
mon clay, did not assimilate with the soil, but ascended on 
high.” I said the conversation turned on the weather, 
and when the Secretary concluded his remarks the weathei 
turned on the conversation, for the rain began to pour 
down, and I left. I had intended, at this point, to ask 
the learned Secretary some questions concerning the effect 
of garden seeds on legislation, but will reserve this branch 
of conversation for another occasion. 

When I reached my attic room in Swampoodle (I al¬ 
ways move in the upper circles) I found a message await¬ 
ing me from the President, inviting me to call again at 
the White House before my departure for Virginia. 

Getting my blacking brush, which I always carry with 
me to prevent annoyance from street Arabs, and which 
also saves me from the wisp fiends at hotels, as I use it 
as a hair and clothes brush, I soon had myself en regie and 
set out. Arriving at the Executive Mansion, I was at once 
ushered into the President’s private room. Having drawn 
the blinds and stuffed a newspaper wad in the key-hole, 
Grover gave a premonitory tap on his nasal organ, as much 
as» to say, “the word is mum,” and taking a seat near 
me he said in a confidential tone: “Mr. Slick, I have 
just heard through a confidential friend in my employ 
in the State Department that Gresham has made known 
my weakness to you; in short, has revealed my craze for 
ham sandwiches. Knowing you hail from a section of the 
Union where anything connected with ham is liable to 


137 


suspicion on the very face of it, and as I am a candidate 
for a third term, I have sent for you to implore you not 
to expose me in Richmond, where I have just done a fat 
thing for her people, in giving the post-office to Mr. Cul- 
lingworth.” Continuing, the President said he had never 
felt the iron enter his soul until Gresham gave him away. 
He had taken this man from a little District Court in In¬ 
diana, an avowed Republican, whose only claim to recog¬ 
nition was that on account of a grudge against the size 
of Ben Harrison’s hat he had bolted the ticket of his 
party. From the manner in which he has just treated me, 
I am inclined to believe that he was only “speaking 
through his hat,” when he professed to admire me. At 
the conclusion of his remarks, with a heart overflowing 
with sympathy for the shattered condition of Mr. Cleve¬ 
land’s spinal column, concerning which so much has been 
written, I assured him his secret was as safe as a Herring 
with me, and that my whole life had been spent in hiding 
the weaknesses of other men and exposing my own. At 
this he seemed greatly relieved, and began asking me 
questions concerning local and State politics in Virginia. 
Among other things, he was anxious to know why the 
Times and Dispatch devoted so much space every morn¬ 
ing to election methods in Virginia. I told him as near 
as I could come at it, their readers liked that sort of thing, 
and they wished to supply a long felt want. He said he 
was struck with one thing though, and that was the 
Times, although alleging that politics was conducted on 
a low plane, yet the discussion was on a high one. I told 
him in case the Times won the decision it would do so 
with a full hand, as it would hold high, low, jack and the 
game. 

Mr. Cleveland wished to know if I would not under- 


138 


take, as his representative, to pacify these worthy gentle¬ 
men of the quill, as it was well known that he was the last 
man in the world to stir up strife in the Democratic ranks, 
and had given nights as well as days to level the Hills 
and remove the noxious Flowers in Hew York, so that no 
Croker could raise his voice. I informed the President 
that local self government was a cherished principle in 
Richmond, and would brook no outside interference, and, 
in my judgment, the olive branch would not flourish there 
at present; not, at least, until the whole stock of choice 
newspaper adjectives had been exhausted. “Perhaps you 
are right,” said he, and he dropped the subject. 

He then told me to present to Mr. Cullingworth his 
kindest regards, and to assure him he enjoyed his plum 
pudding ever so much, and hoped, in return he would en¬ 
joy his “plum patronage” equally as well. Who, after 
hearing this pathetic recital, will not feel his heart warm¬ 
ing towards Grover Cleveland? Here we see the man as 
he is. Ho demi-god, but having like passions and weak¬ 
nesses with common ordinary mortals. 

Although President Cleveland has so honored your 
humble servant with his confidence, still the opportunity 
of obtaining information on the various topics from one 
nearly as eminent as myself, was too good to be lost. And 
so with apparent reluctance, I once more sailed into na¬ 
tional politics as follows: 

Mr. President, I see that Lafe Pence (at the mention 
of whose name Grover laughed outright) says that the 
Populists will sweep the country next time. What do 
you think of that? At this Grover, who had been laugh¬ 
ing, as I have just said, assuming a graver aspect, replied: 
“Sweeping this country, Slick, is a big job, especially 
with a stick broom. Why, you might as well try to dip 


139 


the Potomac dry with a teaspoon, or tunnel the Blue 
Ridge with a toothpick. This boast of the Populists is 
in keeping with their predictions hitherto. They put in 
a shoe-string and expect to pull out a tan-yard at every 
election. Why, in Kansas, where they have full sway, 
finding they cannot control the State, they have Leased 
it out, while their representative in the Senate is fuller 
of beard than brains.” 

This last was a dig at a Populist in the Senate. I 
thought this was a good time to find out Grover’s ideas as 
to “Woman’s Rights,” and so I asked him to tell me. 

“Well,” says he, “I will make a confession; the greater 
part of my life, as you know, was spent in single blessed¬ 
ness, and like all inexperienced men, I had a poor opinion 
of Woman’s Rights.’ But since marriage, my opinions 
have undergone a radical change. I have a very great 
respect for Woman’s Rights’ right now. In fact, I have 
found out she has more rights than I ever dreamed of, and 
besides, she has a way of enforcing them that no one in a 
single state can conceive of.” As Grover uttered this last 
sentence his voice was down to a whisper, and I noticed 
he eyed the paper wad in the key-hole keenly. “Why,” 
says he, resuming, “would you believe it, little Esther 
was nervous and restless last night, and rather than dis¬ 
turb Mrs. Cleveland, who was fatigued by a State dinner, 
held during the evening, I got out of bed and for two 
mortal hours paced the floor of the White House before 
her infantile lungs gave out.” 

At this point Mr. Cleveland heaved a deep sigh, and 
said, “Ah! Slick, little do the people of these United 
States realize the care and responsibility of a Democratic 
administration.” 

Being a fellow-sufferer from the cares of office (babies), 


140 


I deeply sympathized with my distinguished fellow citi¬ 
zen. As soon as he recovered somewhat from his paroxysm 
of grief, I ventured to ask him what his opinion of the 
Republican party was. He replied at once: “I have no 
opinion at all of the G. O. P. (Great On Pulls), where 
high taxes are concerned. In fact, I have just ascertained 
that since the Republican party came into power the mak¬ 
ing of shoe pegs has almost entirely ceased, and nearly 
everybody has tax in their shoes. In fact, I verily believe 
Dingley would tax the atmosphere if he could find a place 
to stick a stamp on it, and then parcel out the whole coun¬ 
try into atmospheric districts, and thus create another 
army of office-holders to worry the very breath out of us 
mugwumps. 77 I asked about the dispute at Blue Fields 
over the Mosquito Territory. He said he had given a 
great deal of attention to the question of mosquitoes since 
he came to the White House. In fact, he had lain awake 
many nights in July, August, and September, trying to 
arrive at a satisfactory solution of this burning question, 
but so far had not been able to do so, as the mosquito, like 
Tom Reed, is always ready to count a quorum, even if 
only two are present—yourself and himself—and pro¬ 
ceeds, as soon as roll call is over, to get into business. I 
then took my leave, highly impressed with the fact that 
our President is a remarkable man, and by strict atten¬ 
tion to business for a few years longer may become eligible 
to a third term, W. J. Bryan to the contrary notwith¬ 
standing. 

I next proceeded to the House of Representatives and 
sent in my card to Hon. Jeremiah Simpson. Jerry was 
some time in coming out, and when he did come he was 
a “stunner. 77 He had on an old broad-brimmed woolen 
hat, a pair of blue jeans pants, with patches on the knees, 


141 


a coat of similar stuff, and a cotton shirt. He wore brogan 
shoes, without socks, and a wisp of wheat straw with a 
patch of hair protruded through a hole in the top of his 
hat. He at once offered an apology for his appearance 
by saying he thought I was a constituent from Kansas, and 
that before coming out he had gone to his Populist ward¬ 
robe and rigged himself out to meet the crisis, as he would 
lose his seat in Congress should one of his constituents 
catch him in the habiliments of an eastern “tenderfoot.” 
I assured him that his apology was scientific, if not ample, 
and proceeded to business, which will be given in my next 
letter. 

Yours, 

Sam Slick, Jr. 

Letter No. 2. 

Washington, D. C., June 1, 1897. 

I promised in my last letter that I would get down to 
business in my next, and so I did. The usual course an 
office-seeker pursues in Washington is this: He selects in 
advance some position he desires, makes out his applica¬ 
tion to his representative, gets it endorsed by the said Rep., 
his heelers, and bottle holders, and hies himself to the 
Capitol and calls upon Hon. William Blank, known at 
home as Bill Blank. He calls at the House, gets in the 
lobby and sends in his card. Soon out comes “Bill,” all 
smiles, as he shakes your hand, and tells you that old, old 
story over again in these words: “Why, hello, me boy, I 
am glad to see you. When did you arrive ? Had I known 
you were coming I would have met you at the depot.” 
What a prevarication to be sure. Why, he is regretting 
that the confounded train that conveyed your confounded 
carcass hither did not fly the track and break your neck 


142 


before you struck Washington. But there’s nothing like 
being polite, even while scuttling a ship or cutting a man’s 
throat. And so we will let it go at that. 

In my case, however, it was different. My member is 
a hustler from way back, and has gotten more offices for 
deserving men than any man of his size in Congress. 
And what is still more to the point, he is a truthful man. 
Hence, in my interview with him at the Capitol, he in¬ 
formed me that my case was hopeless, that I could procure 
no office under a Democratic administration, as the Re¬ 
publicans held them all. In fact, from conversations with 
our leading men here, I am convinced that Grover has an 
acute attack of megacephalis. He is not the only man in 
history who has suffered from it. 

Just so in the present instance, “Your Uncle Grover” 
is firmly possessed with the idea that he will go down in 
history as The Restorer of the Ancient Religion, while 
all the rest of mankind will regard his destruction of the 
Democratic party as his masterpiece. That the world is 
right there can be no question. It may be that Grover 
thinks as the world does, and is only prevented from say¬ 
ing so by his extreme modesty. 

In estimating this great service which Mr. Cleveland 
has rendered to American mankind, we must not overlook 
the fact that men who rid the world of nuisances are just 
as great benefactors of the human race as those who create 
new systems of statesmanship and finance. Why the fame 
of Hercules is just as great if not greater than that of 
Lycurgus or Moses, and yet it rests on the removal of 
nuisances alone. It may be, however, that “Your Uncle 
Grover” is a constructive genius after all, and realized 
that the best and only way to destroy the Democratic 
party was to restore The Ancient Religion. If he thus 


143 


reasoned, he was entirely correct, for success has crowned 
his efforts. 

That in blotting this party out of existence, Mr. Cleve¬ 
land has rendered mankind a service far superior to that 
of Washington, goes without saying. The latter repelled 
a foreign foe, but Grover has killed a domestic one of a 
most dangerous description, one which, from the begin¬ 
ning of the government, the titans of this country have 
labored to destroy by abuse, by argument, by ridicule, by 
oppression, by force, and by theft. Mr. Cleveland, who 
has the reputation of being a long-headed man, clearly 
perceived that the Republican party was unable to accom¬ 
plish what it had so long desired and sought, and, although 
his own religion was the same as theirs, yet, by the inven¬ 
tion of a few new phrases of a taking nature, he knew he 
could pull the wool over the eyes of the disciples of Jeffer¬ 
son and stand forth as “The Greatest Living Democrat.” 

As the readers of my largely circulated journal may sur¬ 
mise, I was shocked to learn such things of our Demo¬ 
cratic President, for whom I had written so many able 
editorials to prove that he was the Greatest Living Demo¬ 
crat, D. B. Hill to the contrary notwithstanding. And 
now to find this Greatest Living Democrat was the sole sur¬ 
vivor of his party. There must be a mistake, and not 
being the man to labor under one if I could help it, I de¬ 
termined to call at the White House once more before I 
shook the dust of Washington from my feet. I called. In 
a few minutes, the Great Restorer of the Ancient Worship 
came in, and after giving me a cordial grip of the hand 
and a hearty “Howdy-you-do,” invited me to take a seat. 
I at once opened the conversation by informing His Ex¬ 
cellency that I was from Virginia, was preparing a sketch 
of his life, and having heard much of him of a derogatory 


144 


nature, I desired to have a denial from his own lips of the 
worst charges, as I was persuaded they were not true. He 
wished to know at once what the charges were, and I told 
him that the people were complaining that the Worship 
of the Golden Calf was costing us entirely too much. “I 
expected that. It all comes from the damnable heresy of 
free salvation (silver). A religion not worth having, did 
not cost anything.” He then explained that in order to 
set up the Golden Calf, a great deal of the “yellow metal” 
was necessary, and in order to get it he was compelled to 
issue bonds and sell them. He further informed me that 
cost what it would, he intended to persevere until the 
Ancient Religion was fully established. 

At this point he gasped, and after passing his hand 
across his forehead a time or two, asked what progress the 
Ancient Faith was making in the Old Dominion. I told 
him that in the cities very good, as their inhabitants were 
worshippers of the Golden Calf before his time, but that 
in the villages where they had no temples (national 
banks) it was slow, while in the rural districts the Old 
Democratic Religion was unshaken. Wishing to know 
the cause of this, I informed him that the people were 
greatly influenced by Daniel, the Prophet of the Old Dis¬ 
pensation, one of the most eloquent men of the South, and 
that he still prayed three times a day with his face towards 
Monticello. He then asked me what Archbishop O’Fer- 
rall, of the Diocese of Virginia, was doing, as he had not 
heard anything from him for some time. I told him 
“Charles was sawing wood and saying nothing at present,” 
since his chances for election to the Ecumenical Council 
in the place of the Prophet Daniel were a little hazy at 
present. “How about the newspaper press ?” “Well, sir, 
in the cities where the calf is strong there are several 


145 


which ably, day in and day out, urge his worship, and 
among them all the Richmond Times had produced the 
strongest arguments.” “What about the country week¬ 
lies ?” I told him they were well-nigh unanimously op¬ 
posed to the Ancient Religion, so much so that whenever 
a man sent by them to the Ecumenical Council in Wash¬ 
ington voted for it they “roast” him to such an extent 
for so doing, that it impairs his health so much that he 
does not deem it advisable to run again. 

At this stage of the interview with the Great Destroyer 
I interposed the following query: “Is it not true, Mr. 
President, that when you were a candidate that the tariff 
question was foremost, and that bimetalism was in the 
platform on which you ran and was elected ?” Before re¬ 
plying, Your Uncle Grover lifted his left hand to his left 
eye, and raising the lid thereof, said in his most impres¬ 
sive manner: “Slick, do you see anything ‘green’ in my 
eye ? Would you expect me, the Greatest Living Demo¬ 
crat, to repudiate a platform ere I had ridden into the 
White House upon it? And having shown this much 
common sense, would you expect me, after the election, 
to carry into effect theories which I have condemned from 
the time I first tasted the sweets of office? Surely not.” 
“But, Mr. President,” says I, “what becomes of us poor, 
free-silver editors under this arrangement? How are we 
to justify ourselves before our sixteen-to-one readers ?” 

“Mr. Slick,” says he, “listen to me. Carlyle says the 
population of England is thirty millions, mostly fools. 
Is not this the case in the United States also ? ‘Don’t be¬ 
lieve it?’ Why, go up yonder on the hill and look at the 
representatives sent here from the South and West. Do 
you think sensible people w r ould send such cattle here ? 
Why, it is self-evident. For you free-silver editors, your 
10 


146 


course is plain. If you can get the majority of them to 
agree to such a fool proposition as free-silver, why you 
can get them to agree to anything else, it seems to me. Go 
back home, Slick, advocate sound money, and tell the 
people what fools they are and they will soon think how 
wise you are. Do you see V ’ 

Here the interview was interrupted, as the Recorder 
of Deeds for the District of Columbia, a colored Republi¬ 
can whom the Great Destroyer had appointed to that fat 
office, and who had been twice rejected by the Senate, 
called to pay his respects to the Greatest Living Democrat. 
As soon as his name was announced, Grover asked me to 
excuse him a few minutes, as he wished to get my views 
on the currency and some other topics of an absorbing 
nature. 

He then went to the door leading into the Blue Room 
and met his dusky worshipper. All up-to-date office- 
seekers carry an audiphone with them, as they rightly 
value the part which whispers have had in deciding the 
fate of mankind. And so, no sooner was the Greatest Liv¬ 
ing Democrat out of sight than I dropped mine to my 
right ear. It is well I did, for had I not done so Mr. 
Cleveland’s friends would have missed one of those in¬ 
spired utterances for which he is so famous. He told his 
pet that a fellow was hack there in the room, the editor 
of a Southern newspaper, and as he was off-color on the 
race question, coming from that benighted district south 
of Mason’s and Dixon’s line, he would best call again in 
the afternoon, when no Southern Democrats would be 
around, and that he was very sure this one was after an 
office of some sort, and having no idea of giving him one, 
his (the pet’s) person might so inflame him that he would 
not be responsible for what might happen. With many 


147 


expressions of interest and good will, the Greatest Living 
Democrat and the darky bade each other adieu. 

Returning to the room, Grover renewed the conversa¬ 
tion in that direct manner for which he is so famous. 
“Well, Slick, tell me what effect my currency policy is 
having in the South.” I told him it was proving a bless¬ 
ing in disguise, that owing to the effects of slavery, the 
people of the South were constitutionally lazy, hut that 
under his masterful policy of contracting the currency, 
they had to hustle or die. At this he seemed greatly 
pleased; noticing which, I remarked further that any 
statesman who could devise a sure cure for national lazi¬ 
ness would prove himself to he one of the greatest bene¬ 
factors of his race this world has ever known. That even 
so profound a statesman as Josh Billings says there was 
no cure for it, though a second wife sometimes hurried it 
a little. I further informed His Excellency that his 
policy was very stimulating to certain other branches of 
industry besides laziness. It had given a great boom to 
the ancient and noble art of lying. That Democratic can¬ 
didates for Congress would soon be as proficient in this 
elegant accomplishment as their Republican competitors. 
At this point Grover said he did not quite catch my drift, 
and asked me to he a little more explicit. I told him that 
Democratic candidates had said in case of your election 
the people would roll in clover, that silver would he so 
plentiful that they would plant cannon in the mountains 
and shoot it all over their districts. That times would he 
so good they would see the advent of the millenium with 
the first Democratic administration in forty years. On 
the contrary, times were harder than ever, and they would 
have to explain the reason why. How they can do this 
without lying was a conundrum, sure enough. As I said 



148 


this a shadow flitted over the face of the Greatest, and he 
said: “Slick, is there no branch of legitimate industry 
improving under my administration?” I told him yes, 
sir. There is one. Under your masterful policy the egg 
trade has become our chief branch of business. So much 
so that our country merchants have been compelled to en¬ 
large their capacities for handling the output. In fact, 
Mr. President, so great is the dearth of money that the 
egg, instead of the dollar, has become our unit of value. 
Our fourth-class post-offices would close out for want of 
business but for eggs in exchange for stamps. The egg 
is now known in the South and West as “Cleveland cur¬ 
rency,” and we suggest that in your forthcoming message 
to Congress, that you recommend the hen as the national 
emblem instead of the eagle, as her output had become a 
part and parcel of our great fiscal system. 

At this point Your Uncle Grover heaved a deep drawn 
sigh and exclaimed: “I’m blasted, Sam, if you are not 
too slick for me. But say, Slick, is there anything I can 
do for you?” I told him there was, but a bar sinister 
stood in his way, and I did not wish to embarrass his ad¬ 
ministration, already weighted down with the load it had 
to carry. “What is your bar, Slick,” says he. “Why this, 
Mr. President, I am a Democrat.” “0, that is no bar, if 
you are one of the right sort.” Here Grover put me to 
guessing, and I said: “What does your Excellency mean 
by the ‘right kind’ of one ?” “Why this,” says he; “one 
who has never been an active party worker. One who is 
patriotic enough to let his name go before a convention 
of his party, and failing to get the nomination, repudiates 
it and its platform. In fact, Mr. Slick, I want no man in 
office under me who is not both party and color blind. 
Hence, when a man is recommended to me for appoint- 


149 


ment I never ask, ‘Is he white or black, Republican or 
Democrat, but does he approve of my administration V ‘I 
only draw the line at Populists.’ A public office is a pub¬ 
lic trust, and while it has been a private snap to me all 
my life, I will not allow any ‘pernicious activity’ in any¬ 
body’s interest except my own. How, Slick, where do you 
stand ?” “In with the gang, your Excellency.” “To the 
victors belong the spoils.” “If not the victors, to whom 
shall they go ?” “To the vanquished!” “Ho, Slick,” 
says he, “you are off. You forget that Select Scholarly 
Class of men, who take no interest in politics until after 
the election, and who are then willing to make a sacrifice 
to themselves in filling the offices of their beloved country. 
I see you are not the kind I am after. You are too much of 
a Democrat, and would embarrass me greatly. I admit no 
one into my official palace who was not one before, or 
promises to become a political eunuch as soon as he is ad¬ 
mitted. By this arrangement, I am the Greatest Living 
Democrat, as all my followers, including my Cabinet, are 
dead ones.” 

At this point Grover said: “Let us change the conver¬ 
sation a little.” I said all right; I thought it needed a 
change. “Well, Slick, tell me what are the leaders doing 
in old Virginia ?” Discussing a problem in mathematics,” 
says I. “Discussing a problem in mathematics ? What in 
the name of common sense do you mean ? What is the 
problem they are discussing?” “Why, this, your Excel¬ 
lency: Your followers say you are the whole thing; the 
opposition says you are only a part, and hence the discus¬ 
sion turns on whether the whole is equal to the sum of all 
its parts, or whether one part is equal to the whole.” 
“Slick, I am blamed if you are not a dangerous man; 
you know too much about the Greatest Living Democrat 



150 


to remain in the United States, as I am a candidate for a 
third term. Say, how would a consulate on the coast of 
Africa suit you?” “Not at all,” says I; “I am from the 
South, and have been sufficiently amused with Africa 
already.” “Well, then, as a last resort, Hoax Smith is 
getting afraid of the Uree Silver Snollygostors in Georgia, 
and talks of resigning. How would the Interior Depart¬ 
ment suit you ?” I said: “I am much obliged, Mr. Presi¬ 
dent, but I am afraid it might revive painful memories.” 
“Slick, what on earth do you mean ?” “Why this, your 
Excellency: I was an applicant for office under your first 
administration, and my interior department gave me so 
much trouble before I got the job that I am afraid my 
appointment to this particular office would revive such 
painful memories that I could not stand it.” At this 
Grover fairly roared, and here this memorable interview 
ended. 


THE LAST CHAPTER. 


It is customary with novelists in the concluding por¬ 
tions of their works to dispose of their several heroes and 
heroines in a manner suitable to their characters and 
situations. We would do likewise. 

Your Uncle Grover, upon retiring from public life, 
went first to the coast of Massachusetts. Here, in leisure 
hours, while fishing, he meditated much upon the disease 
of the Democratic party, and set about to invent a remedy 
to cure it. The disease, which was known among the doc¬ 
tors of the party as Argentia Dementia, or the Free-Sil¬ 
ver Lunacy, had seized nineteen-twentieths of the party, 
in spite of the heroic efforts of Dr. John G. Carlisle, Dr. 
A. P. Gorman, Dr. Bourke Cockran, and other famous 
specialists. Eight years ago several other physicians of 
the same way of thinking had assembled at Indianapolis 
and concocted a pill known as the Palmer and Buckner 
Gold Standard Cure. But the people repudiated it, com¬ 
ing from them, and said if they must take it they would 
get it from a regular practitioner, and not from a lot of 
quacks. Meanwhile Dr. William Jennings Bryan, of 
Nebraska, was denouncing from every stump in the 
United States this Gold Cure of Dr. Cleveland’s as an 
invention of the devil The result was, the party was 
divided into two hostile camps, the one advocating Dr. 
Bryan’s Silver Elixir for all the ills the financial body is 
heir to, and the other Dr. Cleveland’s Gold Standard 
Specific. In the one camp were all the unsafe and insane, 
and in the other the sound and safe. The result was that 
the party of Jefferson was on the point of going to pieces 


152 


through discord and lack of harmony. Then it was that 
Dr. Cleveland saw an opportunity of rendering Demo¬ 
cratic mankind a lasting service. Repairing to Prince¬ 
ton, 1ST. J., he established a sanitarium for the cure of 
political lunacy in the high places of his party. His suc¬ 
cess was not rapid, but sure. The first sign that Dr. 
Cleveland’s medicine was working was the desire for har¬ 
mony. 

Meanwhile the time was at hand for the party to assem¬ 
ble and name a candidate for the Presidency. It met at St. 
Louis July 6, 1904. The thought uppermost in all minds 
was “harmony.” Hence a prescription that would pro¬ 
duce it and which the “safes” and “unsafes,” the “sanes” 
and “insanes” could all take, required the services of the 
most eminent medical talent in the party. With this end 
in view, Dr. David B. Hill, of Albany, 1ST. Y.; Dr. John 
W. Daniel, of Lynchburg, Ya.; Dr. John Sharp Williams, 
of Mississippi; Dr. B. R. Tilman, of South Carolina, and 
many others, were appointed to do this very thing. After 
an arduous session of three days and nights the committee 
announced its great harmony prescription. It was ac¬ 
cepted by all in a most enthusiastic manner, except Dr. 
Bryan, and a few other incurables. Dr. A. B. Parker, 
of Esopus, H. Y., and Dr. H. G. Davis, of West Virginia, 
were nominated to administer the prescription to the peo¬ 
ple of the United States. 

And now comes a sensation. When Dr. Parker read the 
prescription next morning, he at once wired the convention 
he would neither take the medicine himself nor recom¬ 
mend it to others unless it was labelled “The Gold Stand¬ 
ard Cure.” The result was astonishing. Dr. B. R. Til- 
man for a short while lost his head, and got as mad as 
a wet hen. Dr. Cockran, whom the final dose had made 


153 


sick at the stomach, had fled to Indianapolis, where the 
Palmer and Buckner memories still lingered. As soon 
as he heard of Dr. Parker’s telegram he so completely 
recovered that he hired a special train and fairly flew 
back to St. Louis. Dr. David B. Hill, whose maxim is 
“Tread softly and carry a big telegram up your sleeve,” 
he “jess laffed.” Dr. Daniel, whose restoration to sanity 
is beyond question, gave in his adhesion to Dr. Parker’s 
suggestion at once. Not so Dr. Bryan. He wished to 
wire back for specifications, but failed, and the label went 
on as requested. 

And now we have a united Democracy, resulting from 
this wonderful specific. It has and continues to work 
wonders. See some of its wonderful cures. B. R. Tilman 
is entirely harmonious; John Sharp Williams cries for it 
night and day; John W. Daniel sings its praises; William 
Jennings alone says it is bitter and comparatively value¬ 
less. But as it will not harm his political anatomy he 
will gulp it down with a wry face. And lastly, Dr. 
Cleveland, who once destroyed his party, will now go 
down in history as its great and only restorer. 

Neither is the G. O. P. without its ills. Just at present, 
and for some time past, it has been suffering from a 
complication of diseases known as Tariff Tumors and 
Megacephalis. The former had grown to such an enor¬ 
mous size and was so full of pus that Dr. Cummins, of 
Iowa, an eminent Republican specialist, advocated an 
operation for letting out some of the corruption. The 
late Dr. M. A. Hanna, their highest authority, opposed 
this Iowa idea, and recommended a Stand Pat Poultice 
of his own invention, which was adopted. As to its other 
ailment, Megacephalis, they knew there was but one cure 
for it, to-wit: Renomination and defeat at the polls, and 


154 


they let it go at that. And now all is harmonious, as the 
following account of its convention, lately held in Chicago, 
shows: 

(From Memphis Commercial Appeal of June 24, 1904.) 

“It is all over, including the shouting. The Republi¬ 
cans have met in Rational Convention, done what Mr. 
Roosevelt ordered them to do, and now they are plodding 
their w r eary way to their several homes. Dazed, dispirited 
and dumb, they are wondering what they went to Chicago 
for, why they stayed there three or four days, and what 
they did while they were there. Even the consolations of 
inebriety were denied them. They were gagged, chloro¬ 
formed, tagged and padlocked, and all that they were re¬ 
quired to do was to make signs. They return home full 
of swamp gas and satiated with sawdust. They have been 
fed on Roosevelt’s pictures and are now suffering from 
an acute case of interlocked jaws. Indigestion and de¬ 
spair have marked them for their own. 

“The Republican Rational Convention was the most 
remarkable affair of the kind that the world has ever 
known. Rotwithstanding the fact that Mr. Roosevelt is 
an itinerant hair-raiser, the convention that was to nomi¬ 
nate him in a burst of wild enthusiasm was only a con¬ 
tinuous yawn. It began with manifest reluctance. The 
delegates entered the Coliseum like pall-bearers who had 
come to pay their last sad respects to the deceased. Evi¬ 
dently they would have preferred to witness a horse race 
or a baseball game, but a decent respect for the opinions 
of their constituents compelled them to attend the funeral. 

“More than one thousand vacant seats testified to the 
popular enthusiasm for the great Bowery statesman, the 
mighty Bombastes whom the convention was expected to 
nominate. The contrast between this scene and that of 


155 


four years ago, when William McKinley was renominated 
without opposition in a whirlwind of enthusiasm, and 
Mr. Roosevelt accepted a nomination which he had pre¬ 
viously declared he would under no circumstances accept, 
was both painful and pathetic. 

“As a hippodrome it was a marked success. Countless 
pictures of Roosevelt had been tacked up all over the hall, 
to inspire the delegates with enthusiasm, but the only 
effect seems to have been to give them an abnormal thirst, 
and a reckless desire to escape. The convention began 
fully an hour late. A disconsolate band played popu¬ 
lar airs that sounded like the Dead March from Saul and 
the Funeral March of a Marionette, but the audience 
and the delegates refused to be beguiled. Occasionally a 
wearied statesman would stroll down the aisles, and give 
the crowds a signal to applaud, but they were too drowsy 
to observe and too listless to obey. Secretary Shaw 
solemnly took his seat on the platform and looked about 
with a receptive expectancy, but the popular impression 
was that he was the undertaker. Several Republican 
Senators came in and took their seats without being iden¬ 
tified by the Pinkerton detectives present. They had 
probably been drilled into a proper submissiveness and 
ordered not to divert any of the enthusiasm from the 
Main Performer. The latter was not to be present, it is 
true, but like Charles of Sweden, he had sent his boots to 
preside over the gathering. 

“It was a hot day. Especially was the air close and 
oppressive in the Coliseum. The hopeless automatons ‘set 
and sweat/ but did not philosophize. Soft eyes looked 
doubt to eyes that spake not again, and all went merry 
as a funeral bell. It was not unlike a banquet of the 
Ancient and Honorable Artillery of Boston in the Cata- 


156 


combs, or a Sunday-school picnic in a railroad tunnel. 
But all of a sudden the air was tempered with mediatorial 
vapors, the thermometer began to fall, and the ladies 
present mechanically felt for their wraps. A cold night 
air seemed to pervade the great building. A chill fell 
upon every heart. 

“Henry Cabot Lodge had entered the hall and mounted 
the platform. After that there were no more complaints 
of the heat. The audience passed from India’s tropic 
coral strands to Greenland’s icy mountains. There was 
a quick transition from hot to liquid air. For Mr. Lodge 
is the embodied essence of icicular radium. He has all 
the genial magnetism of a Dakota blizzard. His hand 
is as warm as a piece of Parian marble, and his heart 
is as tender as his conscience, and his conscience is as 
tender as the hide of a pachyderm. 

“The blessing of Almighty God was with felicitous pro¬ 
priety invoked on the convention by the Rev. Mr. Frost, 
and the Hon. Elihu Root, delegate at large from the 
Open Polar Sea, made an address which could not be 
heard twenty feet from the platform, and satisfied many 
of the delegates that he was reciting “The Beautiful 
Snow.” A very unfortunate faux pas marred the beauty 
of this bit of elocution. Before the convention assembled, 
First Assistant Sergeant-at-Arms Owen assembled the 
1,800 rooters whom he had engaged for the occasion, and 
addressed them as follows: 

“ T want you men, when the portrait of President 
Roosevelt is unveiled on the stage, to remember your duty 
as Republicans. This is going to be a quiet convention. 
People are not enthused over it, and they will have to be 
worked lip. When that picture is unveiled I want you 
men to cut loose and keep on cutting loose until everybody 


157 


present begins to feel that this is a National Convention, 
inspired by red blood. Now, yon understand your duty, 
and see that you do it. ? 

“Then Mr. Owen had a talk with the man who was to 
pull the string that would open up the great oil painting 
in which Mr. Roosevelt is drawn several sizes larger than 
Goliath and nine shades fiercer than the King of the 
Cannibal Isles. The man behind the string was told that 
Mr. Root had carefully prepared his speech under the 
right eye of the Commander, and that in it he paid a 
magnificent tribute to Mr. Roosevelt, the hero of the hour. 
And so when the man behind the string heard Orator 
Root pronounce the talismanic name of Roosevelt, he was 
to pull the cord and let those stately features flap bravely 
to the polar breeze. Thereupon the 1,800 rooters would 
do the rest, and the papers would chronicle the marvelous 
outburst of spontaneous enthusiasm. 

“Mr. Root, when in consultation with Mr. Roosevelt, 
had decided to wind up his speech with an apostrophe to 
the President, and thus the picture would cap the stately 
climax of oratory. Unfortunately, he extemporized some¬ 
what, and early in his speech he alluded casually to Presi¬ 
dent Roosevelt. The man behind the string caught the 
name, gave a mighty pull and out popped the megatherian 
portrait. Mr. Root was taken by surprise, the Messrs. 
Rooters were thrown off their guard, and the grand! 
climax was utterly spoiled. Just as soon as possible the 
picture was yanked off the stage, and the man behind the 
string was carted away to the Morgue. 

“From that time on the convention was hoodooed. The 
mechanical effects were too transparent. The charm of 
illusion was entirely absent. Henry Cabot Lodge brought 
the resolutions from Washington in a sealed packet. They 


158 


had been written or edited by the President and then 
carefully embalmed. Mr. Lodge read them with all the 
eloquence of a paraschites; but they were utterly mean¬ 
ingless and void of promise. They pledged the Republi¬ 
can party to nothing. It is to stand pat on the tariff or 
not to stand pat, as may be considered advisable. They 
pronounce for and against revision. They turn the party 
position on the trusts so as to catch the people and the 
trust contributions at the same time. Rot a single, direct 
and unequivocal pledge is made the people on any ques¬ 
tion. Ro wonder the platform inspired about as much 
enthusiasm as would the reading of the Egyptian Book 
of the Dead. 

“Ror were the proceedings vitalized when the nomina¬ 
tions were made. It was known that the speech nomi¬ 
nating Mr. Roosevelt had been submitted to him and re¬ 
vised. Thus it became virtually his own speech. And 
then again the nominee for Vice-President is a man who 
inspires as much enthusiasm in a crowd as a manikin, and 
is about as congenial in his manners as a mummy of the 
Thirteenth Dynasty. 

“The proceedings of the Rational Republican Conven¬ 
tion were marked throughout by a fateful lack of enthu¬ 
siasm. The applause was paralytic and perfunctory. 
The proceedings were cut and dried, and the speeches flat 
and dry. That tired feeling was pervasive. The Re¬ 
publican leaders all seemed to be suffering from a case 
of remorse complicated with symptoms of extreme nausea. 
Arctic explorers would have found the proceedings a fine 
preparatory course for their expeditions in search of the 
Rorth Pole. In short, the Rational Republican Conven¬ 
tion has been a nearly perfect realization of Dante’s 
Frozen Hell.” 


And now, my office-getting, office-seeking friends, in¬ 
cluding Grover, Teddy, Arthur P., David B. and Billy, 
with all the small fry, I hid you an affectionate farewell. 
Hoping to meet you in a better world, 

Where Presidents and Congressmen 
Can rest from all their toils, 

And Mugwumps are prohibited 
From getting at the spoils. 

Yours, 

Sam Slick, Jk. 


THE END. 
























































































































































































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